


Red Iris

by cornfields



Series: Red Iris [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Horror, M/M, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 19:59:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 106,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15202358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cornfields/pseuds/cornfields
Summary: The day they'd met, Nicky had been sitting by the door of Alex's favorite abandoned convenience store, reading a book. As soon as Nicky had heard footsteps, he’d looked up. His veins had been less prominent then, and the tremors hadn’t really started for him yet. Nevertheless, he’d been visibly infected. Alex had had a passing thought that he ought to run away from this stranger sitting with a book.Then, though. Then, Nicky had smiled at Alex and freaks don’t smile, freaks don’t sit in the sun and read books, and Alex had started to cry. He hadn’t seen a person in ten months.Nicky took the outburst in stride, and held out a hand to shake.





	1. Stage 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for:  
> Zombies and all of the warnings that come with zombie stuff: disease, personality changes, mass deaths before the start of the fic, etc.  
> In addition: euthanasia (of zombies), violence against zombies, love triangle, death (of zombies), outbreaks, apocalypse  
>  **No major character death!** Ever!

#  ONE. ALEX.

 

**NOW**

Alex is a simple guy with simple desires. If he found a lamp with a genie in it, he knows exactly what his three wishes would be.

  1. He wants an island where there aren’t any freaks.
  2. He wants to hear Nicky’s voice.
  3. He wants to fly, with Nicky, to his freak-free island.



He complains about this to Nicky one night while they’re sitting on the couch in the living room, staring at the blank TV screen. Tonight’s movie is a romantic comedy that Alex saw bits of as he was growing up, but never the entire thing. His retelling of the plot is full of holes, but they both stare at the TV, imagining it anyway. “They walk together in the woods, not saying nothing, because they– because they are shy.” He pauses. “They are not afraid of any freaks, like us, they don’t know how good they–”

Nicky smacks his palm lightly against the fabric of the couch, clearly trying to get Alex to return to the story.

Alex is still stuck on the stupid world of the movie. “You know, all I want, now, is to hear you. And have an island without freaks. And live with you there, and other people, too.” He pauses. “And electricity, and real movies, and food. Hot food.”

Nicky turns to look at Alex and gives him a withering frown. The blue veins on Nicky’s face and body are darkening, and Alex’s gaze flicks to Nicky’s blank left cheek before he can stop himself. Shame curls under his ribs for complaining about _anything_ to Nicky. He turns back to look at the blank TV screen. “So they walk together in woods, and then stop near her house,” he continues, softly.

 

 

 

**AFTER THE OUTBREAK:**

There were ten or eleven months of vacant, hellish nothingness before Nicky came into Alex’s life. The freaks were still well-fed and strong, so Alex spent most of his time hiding. He moved from house to house, eating the leftover food out of the fridges of the people that used to be there. He’d tried not to think about how the original owners had either been eaten by freaks or turned into them. A select few had been evacuated due to their money or political power, but Alex doesn’t know if even those people had ever truly reached safety. Normal people were even less likely to have met a timely fate. He tries not to think about it.

It was easy not to think about it when he was always hiding, always in fear of his life. Insomnia kept him exhausted; his nights were spent listening to the shrill wailing of the freaks outside and the horrific but constant sound of crunching bones under their teeth. Even during quiet moments, it had been nearly impossible to get his brain to stop churning long enough for him to doze off. He spent his days getting food and finding new places to hide.

He knew he should be trying to hatch a better plan; he’d seen movies, he’d seen TV. He had some ideas about what he should be doing to save himself. The problem was that he didn’t know how to formulate cures or hunt or make traps or fly planes. He was an accountant and then he was unemployed and then the world ended. Alex had never been trained by the Army on how to fly a helicopter, had never lived off the land in the dead of winter and been trained to use bear traps, had never been taught how to use weapons.

He was an accountant, and he was alone, and his brain was so slow from the combination of panic and insomnia that he spent most of his time in a sluggish haze.

The freaks had started dying after the first few months. The virus destroyed all logic, robbed the hosts of the ability to sleep, and eventually killed them. When there weren’t any uninfected animals or people left around the city, the infected had consumed each other out of desperation. Alex had stopped thinking of them as _infected people_ , then, and started thinking about them as _freaks._

As they got weaker and weaker, Alex had been able to venture out more and more, keeping a can of hairspray in his bag and a lighter in his pocket. He’d seen then that the city was truly empty; during the daytime, the freaks had stayed hidden from the sun, curled up in abandoned buildings. Alex had learned swiftly which places were best to avoid.

It was so quiet.

 

 

 

**NOW**

Nicky brings home an entire bag of canned goods one afternoon. Before coming in, he sprays the sidewalk, steps, and doorknob with bleach to mask his scent against the weak and desperate freaks. He drops the heavy bag on the kitchen table of their current house and Alex stares hungrily. “You find all this? Where?"

Nicky tries to mouth the words, but Alex can’t read lips. Instead, Nicky draws a smiley face in the air. It takes Alex a second, and then: “Wal-Mart? But that’s too far.”

Nicky puts his hands up like he’s holding a steering wheel. Alex gapes. “You have a car again? Why you not tell me sooner?"

In response, Nicky taps his wrist, awkwardly pats his own back once, and holds his hands up like he’s holding a steering wheel. Then, he shakes his head _no_ and smiles before unloading the groceries.

Alex tries to get it, putting together the vocabulary that he and Nicky have slowly been building over their time together. _Time behind car no. Time back car not_. “You didn’t have the car before,” he says, and Nicky nods. “So you steal it? I thought we stole all the cars.” At least, the ones that were easy to steal, with keys in the houses or apartments nearby. The best ones were the ones with panic buttons on the keys. They’d take a car, use it until it ran out of gas, and leave it. It’s not like anyone else was using them.

Nicky nods, but his smile gets richly smug, and it dawns on Alex: Nicky must have hot-wired the car. _That’s... so hot_ , Alex thinks helplessly. “You learned to hot-wire cars?"

Nicky nods, looking like he’s trying not to be too proud, and Alex wants to kiss him. The feeling is not new, but this time, it’s absolutely unrelated to his natural, normal fixation on Nicky as the only other living soul Alex can talk to. This surge of desire is purely for Nicky, in appreciation for his boldness and skill. “Amazing,” Alex says happily. He reaches for a can of food and their can opener, and Nicky slaps his hand away.

Alex sits at the counter and watches as Nicky prepares an actual meal with the canned food, even though they lack a functional oven or microwave. The quiet never entirely leaves, and Nicky’s movements are soft but sound loud by comparison.

Nicky finishes up preparing the food and serves it into actual dishes. Alex bolts it down so quickly that Nicky raps his knuckles against the table until Alex looks up. Nicky’s hands spread apart slowly, and Alex kind of guesses what he means. “You want me to slow down?” Nicky nods.

Alex shrugs. “I was very hungry. You’re a good chef. I can’t help it.” He dives right back into his food and Nicky smiles in amusement. Alex smiles back, making sure some half-chewed food is visible. He gets a light slap on the shoulder for his trouble, and snickers.

They both eat in silence, basking in the midafternoon light, until Nicky drops his fork. Alex looks up in alarm and watches as Nicky starts shaking, eyes getting glassy and breathing becoming labored. Alex jumps out of his seat and wraps his arms around Nicky’s rib cage, helping him stand.

Nicky weakly moves out of Alex’s grip after he’s finally on his feet and then staggers clumsily toward the basement, locking the door after himself. The sounds of his unsteady lurching down the stairs echo through the door and Alex wishes he knew what Nicky did down there. Wishes he could at least do _something._ But there’s nothing, because Nicky has always reacted poorly when Alex asks what he can do to help.

Alex sits on the couch in the study, the only room where he and Nicky spend time after the sun goes down. He stares at the blank TV until the shadows grow so long that he has to close all the shutters and blinds, plunging him into darkness. He lights a candle, sits back down on the couch, and finally, _finally,_ the basement door opens.

The blue veins somehow seem less prominent, but Alex is probably just imagining things. Nicky is acting normal, calmly sitting down on the couch next to Alex. They make eye contact in awkward, stretching silence until Alex asks, “What kind of movie tonight? Action, romance, comedy, drama?”

Nicky holds up four fingers, choosing option number four. Alex settles down to tell Nicky the entire plot of _Scarface_.

 

 

 

**ALEX USED TO:**

Alex used to work in a building so tall that the radio tower on top of it seemed to scrape through the clouds. He sat in a cubicle on the eighth floor, wore business casual, and crunched numbers until his eyes blurred.

“Yeah, hey,” TJ said, leaning against the frame of Alex’s cube, giving a little wave when Alex turned to greet him. He was wearing that light blue polo shirt again, the one that brightened up the whole office and made Alex think about a sky on a cloudless day. “They’re really getting on us about overtime. You gonna stay late?"

_I’d rather die_ , Alex thought dramatically. “Yeah, sure. Whatever Mr. Foss wants.” He let his loathing for the idea come into his tone of voice.

“Personally, I’d rather die, but they sent O’Ryan packing last week. Kinda not the best time to make waves,” TJ muttered, voice low.

Alex was more than happy to peel his eyes away from his computer monitor, taking the chance to stretch and relax his eyes. And God, was TJ ever a sight for sore eyes; his hair was messier than usual, falling around his face in chaotic waves as if he’d gone to bed right after showering. Alex wasn’t sure if he wanted to take hours with a flat iron to straighten it, or spend hours rumpling it up more.

He forced himself to focus on conversation. “You want to get dinner later, and come here after?”

TJ lit up a little. “Yeah. That’d be great. Come get me when you’re ready.”

“Yeah. Cube gets too lonely.” Alex put on his Dramatic-At-Work voice. “I’m so lonely, I’m dying here.”

TJ ran his hands across his own face as if to wake himself up, ignoring Alex’s whining. “They say O’Ryan was fucking up the numbers, though.”

“Fucking up how?” Alex asked, sitting up a little straighter.

“Fucking up like... making things match that don’t match.” TJ glanced down both sides of the aisles near him and then leaned in, resting a hand on the gray felt of Alex’s cube walls to relay the news better. “Making money disappear.”

Alex took a second to get over his unexpected surge of adrenaline and covered it up with a joke. “Makes money disappear but doesn’t give me any. Selfish.” He was _definitely_ shocked because O’Ryan was apparently embezzling. He wasn’t at all awkward and tongue-tied because TJ was leaning into his space, body language open and appealing, flushed skin of his cheeks unbearably close to—

TJ laughed at the joke and smacked Alex’s shoulder. “Right? Come get me when you’re ready for dinner, okay? Bagels or something.” He left and Alex could hear his footsteps, muffled against the industrial carpet, as he walked back down the hall.

 

 

 

**NOW**

Nicky makes breakfast with more of the canned goods from the previous night. Alex stuffs his face and Nicky doesn’t even admonish him this time. Light from the sunrise floods the kitchen and Alex watches Nicky push a lock of blond hair behind his ear.

Maybe, in another life, he could be—he could be here with Nicky, except this would be their house. They’d be waking up after a night of peaceful sleep in the same bed. Just for a moment, Alex can imagine that they’re not eating out of stolen cans of food while sitting in their stolen house. Instead, they’re boyfriends, and they’re having a lazy Sunday morning.

Nicky would look different; he’d be missing the blue veins of his neck and wrists and eyeballs and arms and everywhere else. Alex doesn’t ever think those veins have made Nicky look ugly, has never been too preoccupied with them because he’s never seen Nicky without them. But in this other life, Nicky wouldn’t be infected, so he’d look different. Alex would look different too. He wouldn’t have an X tattooed on his cheek in dark ink that had glowed neon when the checkpoint officers used to shine their government issued orange pen lights at it.

He’s jolted out of his reverie by Nicky knocking on the table. Alex snaps out of it and watches as Nicky points at the cans, and then makes a gesture like he’s driving a car. “You want to go back to Wal-Mart,” Alex hazards.

Nicky points to Alex and then to himself. “You want to go together,” Alex says, brightening. He doesn’t like the idea of Nicky poking around a Wal-Mart all by himself. “Yes! Let’s go. We can get food, water, and batteries.” Alex is bored to death without batteries.

Nicky vehemently shakes his head, and Alex steels himself for the weekly batteries argument. It is literally _exactly_ the same every damn time. Even though Alex has tried to switch it up and make remixes of it, it’s just the same track playing on repeat. _One of our greatest hits_ , he thinks bitterly. He recites his talking points yet again, knowing they still probably won’t work. “The freaks are mostly dead. I’m bored, I want batteries, we can listen to the CD player, use flashlights, and look for other people. We can get little videogames! It would be fun!”

The flat look Nicky gives him could be disdain for literally any part of that plan. For whatever reason, Nicky objects to calling the freaks ‘freaks,’ but won’t write down what he thinks Alex should call them instead. Also, he probably thinks the videogames are an impossibly dumb idea.

However, it’s likely that the principal reason Nicky looks like he’s about to cough up a hairball is the layout of Wal-Mart. The batteries and electronics are close to the back, far away from the sliding doors that let in daylight. Alex could use a candle to navigate it, but he might get some company if he got all the way to the back. Not the kind of company he wants.

“We go together, stay safe,” Alex wheedles.

_No,_ Nicky mouths, and then points at the cans. Alex guesses that he means: this is a grocery trip. Groceries only.

Alex sits up straighter to continue the argument, but then remembers: Nicky’s the one that learned to hot-wire cars so he could drive them to Wal-Mart in the first place. It makes him feel a little shitty when he thinks about it like that, so he simply nods and sits back to finish his food.

 

 

 

**NICKY USED TO:**

Alex doesn’t know, and Nicky won’t tell him.

 

 

 

**NOW**

Ever since the world ended, Alex has been kicking himself for never learning how to hot-wire a car. Watching Nicky doing it while he stands patiently by the Toyota he’s stealing, he wonders how the fuck Nicky learned. “How you learn to do this?” There’s no Google, no YouTube tutorials.

Nicky glances at Alex quizzically.

“You know,” Alex clarifies, “because you can’t find anything anymore. No Internet, no phones. No movies. How can you learn to hot wire a car?”

Nicky pauses in his pulling of wires to hold his hands in front of himself, palms up, sides touching. He looks intently at his palms, and Alex realizes. “Oh, a book? From where?”

Nicky looks intently at his hands for another moment and then points at their house. “Book was in our house?” Alex asks. Nicky shakes his head and points at another house. “Book was at that house?” Still a shake of the head, so Alex keeps talking. “Book was in a house.” Nicky shakes his head and smiles at Alex, repeating the gesture. “Book house. Oh. The book’s house?”

That guess earns Alex a nod, and Nicky makes their _keep going_ gesture with his hand. “Library,” Alex settles on, and Nicky beams at him as a confirmation.

Alex watches as Nicky’s nimble fingers finally rig the car so that the engine flips over, and wants to kiss him again. He whoops loudly instead, earning a half-assed glare in response as Nicky slowly pulls out of the space. They creep down the road, and Alex wonders why they’re going so slowly until Alex has to ask. “Did you forget where’s gas pedal?”

He’s seen Nicky’s driver’s license, and he knows Nicky knows how to drive. That’s how he knows Nicky’s name. (“Lars?” he’d said. Nicky shook his head and pointed at his middle name. “Nicklas,” Alex said. Nicky had made a “smaller” gesture with his hands. “Nicky?” Alex had guessed. Nicky had then beamed.)

Nicky points at the gear shift in exasperation, and Alex understands the problem. “Hey, stop, I know how,” he says, grateful to be able to contribute something after Nicky was the one to donate the car in the first place. Alex can deal with manual transmissions.

They stop the car a mere block from home and switch sides. Alex appreciates that speed limits are stupid and invalid in this new hell world they live in, and he weaves as fast as he can through the abandoned cars and random shit that’s blocking the way on the roads. Fallen light poles, trees, rocks, potholes. He glances over at Nicky to see if his driving is freaking him out.

What he sees is so much worse.

Rather than looking scared, Nicky looks blissful. His eyes are closed and there’s a faint upturn at the edges of his lips as he keeps his face in the wind from the car’s open window. Sunlight shines down on him and the breeze pushes his hair back, baring his entire face and neck, dark veins and smile and all, to Alex’s gaze. It takes effort for Alex to look back at the road, and even when he’s staring right at the pavement in front of the car, he can’t banish the bizarre desire to lean over and kiss his way up and down every single blue line crossing Nicky’s skin.

They get to the store in no time. He parks in the middle of the road, because he fucking _can_ , and chances another look at Nicky. It’s just as bad. Nicky’s hair is tousled from the wind and falling chaotically around his face, and he’s still got his eyes closed. “You know, most people hate when I drive,” Alex says, proud that he doesn’t sound hoarse. “They think they’re going to die, because I drive fast.” And recklessly, according to at least one cop.

Nicky turns and touches his own left cheek.

Alex absolutely hates him for about a second. Hates him for ruining one of the normal moments, those few fleeting seconds when they get to experience something that might have happened before the freaks. Absolutely hates him for bringing up the fact that the infection is far more dangerous than breaking the speed limit, hates him for reminding Alex that he’s got the infection.

But like always, because of how Nicky is, and how Alex is, the anger doesn’t last. The hatred burns out so quickly that Alex forgets it was there, and he gets out of the car and surveys the scene.

The weather is warm and the buildings aren’t as tall in this part of the city. The sun isn’t entirely blocked out. The front of the Wal-Mart is utterly destroyed, glass shards everywhere. Alex grabs his bag and Nicky joins him, standing at his side and shaking his head. Nicky points up at the sun, holds his hand at an angle, and then touches his own wrist. He holds up two fingers, and holds one hand out flat and then passes the other below it, and then points to the Wal-Mart.

Alex knows what Nicky is saying: _Two hours from now, the sun will be at an angle that casts the most light into the store, and then we should go in._

“Fine. What do you want to do now?” Alex asks, and Nicky smiles widely. He has something up his sleeve, and Alex can’t help but grin back. Nicky starts walking like a man on a mission, and Alex excitedly follows.

There is bird song floating through the air, and leaves rustle in the breeze. Squirrels are a thing of the past, but there are still birds, and trees, and rats. Alex has always wanted to trap a rat and keep it as a pet, but it might have some disease, and he can’t get health care anymore if it makes him sick. He keeps his eyes peeled for any sign of wildlife that would make a good pet, though. It’s always nice to have company.

There are no corpses in the streets these days; they’ve all been eaten by freaks, especially after the first six months. There are the occasional bones strewn about, but Alex has seen so many over the last year and a half that he’s immune to them. _Ashes to ashes, dust to dust_ , he thinks. He concentrates on the sunlight filtering through the buildings, through the trees.

Nicky must be excited, because he’s walking briskly and constantly glancing over his shoulder to make sure Alex is following him. The whites of Nicky’s eyes are slowly being taken over by a navy blue that’s seeping in under the edges of his eyelids. It spreads further every week, and Alex worries about that, and he worries about Nicky’s cyanotic hands, and his blue veins.

Still, he’s swept up by Nicky’s silent enthusiasm. “What are you so excited for?” he asks, grinning.

Nicky grabs Alex’s arm and positively drags him across the street, and then releases him so he can point. Alex finally sees their destination and looks at Nicky incredulously. “A golf course?”

Nicky nods and leads him up a set of stairs. There are abandoned golf carts with abandoned clubs, and Alex stares at the tall grass of the course. “The grass is too high, how can we play?”

His complaints go totally ignored as Nicky hoists a bag of clubs over his own shoulder. He searches the area around the clubhouse for balls and finds a few that don’t match. Alex voices his protests again. “How can we play if it’s so grassy?”

This time Nicky listens but rolls his eyes happily and waves Alex off dismissively, as if Alex is being a huge spoilsport. Nicky moves to go play golf—what, by himself? —and Alex makes a noise of blatant offense. “Hey, wait,” he says, and grabs a golf bag.

They play for the full two hours. A sunburn starts up on Nicky’s skin, and Alex knows he’s probably burned as well. Half the time is spent looking for their balls in the grass, but it’s the most fun Alex has had in weeks. Nicky wins, and Alex promises he’ll be the one to cook dinner that night. They leave their golf balls and clubs on the fourth green, freshly sprayed with bleach, hoping that putting them far away from any freak congregation spaces will keep them safe.

They walk back to the car beaming, and they discover that Nicky was indeed right: the sunlight is streaming into the store, lighting up most of the front half. Plenty of non-perishable food items will be easy to get.

Alex starts thinking about batteries again.

Nicky puts on his backpack and looks inside the store. He points at the left side to indicate the food aisles, and looks at Alex for confirmation. Alex nods and hoists his empty backpack on his shoulder, keeping his hairspray and lighter in his front pockets, easy to reach. Nicky’s knives are out of sight, but he’s told Alex before that he always got at least one on him when he goes anywhere dangerous. He walks first into the store, trying to keep his feet from crunching too much on broken glass.

Alex follows. Neither of them has a flashlight. The freaks hate sunlight, but the flickering movement of a flashlight or a candle can alert them to the presence of food. Alex and Nicky have learned to deal with the darkness. Noise attracts the freaks when they’re awake, so Nicky and Alex have learned to be quiet at night, and be quiet when they’re anywhere near dim, enclosed spaces. Alex has learned not to yell or scream no matter how scared he gets, because that will draw more freaks faster than it will draw any help.

_At least Nicky won’t accidentally scream if he gets scared_ , Alex thinks dismally. He doesn’t mean it. He wants Nicky to be able to scream if he needs to. He wants Nicky to be able to scream, and talk, and yell. Alex wants to be able to scream and not worry about freaks at all. He wants—wants to be able to bellow out songs at the top of his lungs with Nicky, breaking the speed limit on road trips like Alex and TJ used to do. He wants to have all the windows rolled down in TJ’s Jeep and yell along every word to some stupid-ass country song because he’d know all the words simply from being in the Jeep’s passenger seat too many times. He— he wants to not be thinking about TJ.

Shopping. Right. Alex finds cans of tuna and immediately starts loading his bag up. It’s heavy, but it’s protein that requires no preparation. He can hear the faint sounds of Nicky working in another aisle, probably getting beans or vegetables. Alex maintains that vegetables are a waste of space, but Nicky seems to care about vitamins for some reason.

_Vitamins,_ Alex thinks, and heads over to the right side of the store. They’re out of vitamins. They go through them so fast because they only get the gummy kind—not out of preference, but because the other kind rattle so fucking loudly it’s like holding a noisemaker. Now that they’ve got a car again, maybe they could go with the real kind, but Alex doesn’t want to take risks he doesn’t have to. He loads the bag up with gummy vitamins and then looks to his left.

The aisle spans most of the depth of the store. At the end, Alex is pretty sure he sees batteries. He imagines Nicky scolding him and thinks it over. Yes, the batteries are in the dark half of the store, and yes, he promised Nicky he wouldn’t, but they’re _right there_. He thinks of the CD player they have, a relic of the early 2000s that can play music with just AA batteries. Real music, for once. He thinks of flashlights so they can read books at night and not just stare in the darkness at a TV that will never function.

He tries not to think about it and distracts himself by grabbing shaving cream, deodorant, and other toiletries they need. It doesn’t work. He keeps those in his increasingly heavy bag, but he keeps thinking about the batteries.

Nicky will hate him for this. He hopes Nicky will get over it quickly and takes off his shoes. He ties the laces together and hangs them around his neck so he can creep down the aisle in his sock feet, feeling around with his toes when he gets to the darker areas. The aisles are full of shit that will never be used, can never be bought, shit that runs on electricity that doesn’t really exist anymore. Well, maybe doesn’t. Maybe it does somewhere, but Alex doesn’t know how to find where, and people there clearly have no interest in finding Alex. He squints into the darkness and sees them: batteries on hanging plastic strips, just waiting to be used. Charged and ready. Here to improve Alex’s life.

He gently picks up as many as his arms can carry before shuffling silently back down the aisle. Once he’s very obviously in the sunlight again, he takes off the backpack and shoves the batteries inside, congratulating himself on a job well done. Swinging his backpack back on, he makes his way to the exit and then to the car, their default rendezvous point.

Nicky comes out after less than a minute, squinting in pain against the light of the sun. Alex’s stomach drops a little. “Look at me,” he barks.

Nicky immediately looks at him, his gray eyes wide in fear. His pupils are pinpricks, but that’s not what Alex is worried about.

Alex exhales and points at the car. “Let’s go home now.”

The magic from earlier on the golf course is gone. Nicky nods with no protest whatsoever and gets in the driver’s seat long enough to start the car again before moving over to the passenger side. He spends the fast, reckless ride home quiet, eyes open, not basking like he was earlier. He starts trembling as soon as they park, and Alex helps him out of the car and into their house, making sure he gets to the basement door.

“You want help?” he asks, dying to know what the hell Nicky gets up to down there.

Nicky shakes his head and opens the basement door, closing it behind himself. He locks it and Alex listens to the thuds of his shaky steps down the stairs, waiting to make sure Nicky made it to the bottom without falling. Once he’s sure Nicky’s still safe, he goes outside, gets the groceries and batteries, and sprays the steps with bleach before locking the door for the night.

 

 

 

**AFTER THE OUTBREAK:**

About six months after the outbreak, after the city had hit the boiling point, Alex had been sure no other uninfected human was within a five-mile radius.

He walked further and further every day, staying away from the insides of buildings that were poorly lit. He took food from places that were so destroyed or open that no freaks would congregate there. He knew to stay away from the hospitals— ground zero for the outbreak, often full of freaks still— and whenever he got scraped, he tried to fix it with items from medicine cabinets. He clutched the gold cross around his neck and prayed nothing serious ever happened to him, because there was nobody to fix it, no supplies, nothing.

He talked to himself. He talked to mannequins. He talked to rats he saw on the street. He spent his nights locked as deeply as he could get in people’s basements, listening to the freaks screaming outside as they ate each other. As they died. As they starved.

 

 

 

**NOW**

Nicky finds the batteries after he comes back upstairs. His tremors have stopped and he looks calm and collected again, or as calm as anyone can really be in an apocalypse. He and Alex go through the bags of groceries, getting ready to start dinner, and Nicky abruptly throws a pack of batteries onto the counter.

“Don’t be mad,” Alex says fruitlessly.

Nicky keeps going through the bag, pulling pack after pack of batteries out and smacking them each down on the counter in turn. Alex presses his lips together and tries not to feel embarrassed or scolded. It was his risk to take. He decides to voice this. “It was my choice,” he says.

It was the wrong thing to say. Nicky stares at him incredulously and then heads toward the basement.

Alex jerks forward, already contrite. “No, I don’t mean… come back, come here.”

Nicky ignores him and locks the basement door behind himself.

 

 

 

**ALEX USED TO:**

A couple weeks after O’Ryan had left, Mr. Anderson invited Alex to lunch. This was unusual; Alex hoped it meant he was up for a promotion. The restaurant had red carpets and tinkling piano music played by a real pianist, with cloth napkins that waiter actually put on Alex’s lap for him. Alex didn’t know exactly how to thank a random waiter for touching his thighs, but Mr. Anderson merely said, “Thank you,” so Alex did the same. Mr. Anderson ordered some of the more expensive dishes, “to share,” he’d claimed, and Alex tried not to fidget.

“I suppose you know why I’ve asked you here,” Mr. Anderson said.  Alex’s heart rate ramped up. Finally, a promotion that would get him doing something other than crunching numbers. Maybe supervising other number-crunchers. “It’s because there’s been some inconsistencies in your work,” Mr. Anderson continued.

Alex’s heart sank just as quickly as it had risen. “No. I don’t do any of that, I don’t do what O’Ryan did.”

“You’re not getting fired, Mr. Ovechkin,” Mr. Anderson responded. “We just hope you understand that the company is really its own culture. We spend all this time working together, and a lot of work happens outside of work, but it’s not unrelated to work.” He took a sip of the lemon-cucumber infused ice water. His smile was personable, but at the moment it felt menacing. “And what we’re finding is that you don’t count those as work expenses. And that’s what they are.”

For just half a second, Alex wondered why they weren’t having the meeting at the office. Then it all fell into place. This is why O’Ryan had been fired. Alex was being asked to do something wrong, and O’Ryan had refused and been fired, and now the burden was on Alex.

“My mistake,” he said, and watched the look of smug satisfaction spread across Anderson’s face. He hated him a little, but not enough to quit.

TJ showed up in his cubicle after he got back from lunch with Mr. Anderson. “Hey, what was lunch about? Did he talk to you about the merger?”

_A merger_ , Alex thought, _fuck_. The biggest problem with a merger would be that Alex would be fired in disgrace and never work again, or that he’d be let go even if he kept on with the lawbreaking shit he’d already agreed to. “No,” he responded dismally.

“Eh, he’ll get to it soon,” TJ said, not noticing Alex’s glum mood. “See you tomorrow, babe, I’m headed out.”

Alex bid his farewell to TJ and then stared at his spreadsheet blankly for two full minutes _. This isn’t how it’s meant to be_ , he thought, but couldn’t come up with any way to fix it.

 

 

 

**NOW**

When it finally gets dark, Nicky comes back upstairs. He seems to have forgiven Alex, or at least silently agreed not to have a fit about the batteries, because he picks up a pack of them and walks over to Alex. He holds them out with his eyebrows curved in a way that he and Alex have established means he’s asking _what_ or _why_ or _who_. Alex internally refers to it as _question eyebrows_. Right now, Nicky’s asking why Alex hasn’t already opened the batteries and used them.

“Want to listen to music?” Alex asks, and Nicky nods immediately. Alex realizes with an odd sense of surprise and relief that Nicky’s probably just as bored as he is. He goes upstairs to the room where he’d dumped his nonessentials so they’d be out of the way and gets the Discman, ear buds, and a few CDs. By the time he’s back downstairs, Nicky has changed into sleep clothing, and he’s settled down firmly on the couch, waiting.

They each only get one ear, but that’s better than nothing. Alex hands Nicky the CDs, all of which were scavenged from different houses, and Nicky surprises him by choosing some stand-up comedy recording. “Okay,” he agrees anyway, and puts it in.

Their thighs press together as Nicky pushes play, and Alex startles slightly at the sound of a big hall full of happy people waiting to be entertained. The comedienne yells a greeting and introduces herself, and Alex finds himself staring at the blank TV as if he’s there, as if he can see it all happening. He glances over to see if Nicky noticed, if Nicky thinks he’s stupid. No, he discovers, Nicky didn’t notice because he’s doing the same thing. They both stare at the blank TV and listen as the comedienne tells jokes about her family and her life.

Alex has heard recordings since the end of the world—it’s only in person that he hasn’t heard anyone else speak. It’s usually music recordings, though, but right now he’s discovering that it’s so good to hear someone just _talking_ , and why didn’t he listen to this CD sooner? He exhales deeply and feels Nicky’s hand close around his wrist lightly.

When he glances over again, Nicky’s looking at him and smiling a little. The deep blue in the whites of Nicky’s eyes is almost touching his gray-green irises. His cheeks are dusted a delicate shade of pink. He’s beautiful.

“Do you forgive me for getting batteries?” Alex asks, voice wrecked, pretending that his entire heart doesn’t hinge on Nicky’s answer.

Nicky nods, and Alex wants to rest his head on Nicky’s shoulder. He resists the urge, just like he always does.

 

 

 

**AFTER THE OUTBREAK:**

Alex had met Nicky completely by surprise.

For a long time, Alex had been too tired to venture far from wherever he was living that night. He’d established a horrible little routine: every day, walk to the gas station. The walls of the gas station were mostly glass, and it had (shitty but nonperishable) food in it. He could have loaded up enough to keep himself fed for two days at once, but never really acknowledged it to himself. _It’s fresher this way_ , he lied to himself. _It’s too heavy to carry much at once_ , he lied to himself. It felt good to get out of the house and do something. That’s all he could come up with, in the end.

He’d been heading there one day and choked on his tongue because Nicky had been sitting by the door, reading a book. As soon as Nicky had heard footsteps, he’d looked up. His veins had been less prominent then, and the tremors hadn’t really started for him yet. Nevertheless, he’d been visibly infected. Alex had had a passing thought that he ought to run away from this stranger sitting with a book.

Then, though. Then, Nicky had smiled at Alex and freaks don’t smile, freaks don’t sit in the sun and read books, and Alex had started to cry. He hadn’t seen a person in ten months.

Nicky took the outburst in stride, and held out a hand to shake. His hands had been colder than Alex was expecting, veins prominent, but he hadn’t given a fuck. He’d finally gotten himself together enough to ask, “You waiting for me?”

Nicky nodded.

“How do you know I’m coming?” Alex had asked, flabbergasted.

Nicky had pointed at the mannequin behind the front counter. Alex had stolen the lady mannequin from Target and put her at the cash register. She was dressed in stylish women’s petites separates and he’d addressed her as Tammy whenever he went to get food. _Hey, Tammy, how’s it going_ , he’d say, as if she’d answer. He’d only put her there a few days ago.

“Oh, yeah, I put Tammy there,” Alex had admitted immediately, too far gone for pride. His pride had disappeared along with civilization. “She’s thirty-six years old, four kids, and lazy-ass husband. She and me run away together.”

Nicky raised his eyebrows, smile turning up at the corners.

“I mean, run away together from Target,” Alex had added, and Nicky had broken into a smile.

They’d gone inside, then, raiding the candy bars. Alex had had his mouth full of Snickers when Nicky tapped his arm to get his attention. He’d mouthed something and Alex hadn’t been able to follow. “You can’t talk?” Alex had asked gracelessly.

Nicky had shaken his head, and Alex’s lips tightened briefly. He knew Nicky was in stage 1, from the veins and the silence. Couldn’t be any farther along because Nicky had been in the sun, and hadn’t tried to eat him yet. He’d asked Nicky, mouth still full of Snickers, “You want to come live with me?”

Nicky’d stared at him and then pointed at his own blank left cheek.

Alex had snorted. “You’re infected. I can see that, but still. Come live with me? Even if you leave after today,” he’d asked. He’d known stage 1 of infection never lasted longer than three days for anyone, but having someone live in his house with him even for a night—it had made his heart pound in unrestrained joy. “Please. Just for couple days.”

Nicky had looked skeptical, and worried. Alex had added, “If you go to stage two, I will throw you out. But please.”

He’d wanted to fucking break into song when Nicky had smiled and nodded. A two-day roommate, whatever. Anything was better than being alone. Literally anything.

 

 

 

**NOW**

During breakfast, Nicky reaches out and knocks his knuckles against the counter until he gets Alex’s attention. Then, he holds out his hands, flat with his palms facing the ceiling, and stares at Alex pointedly. “Books,” Alex says.

Nicky holds his hands up above his head, making a triangle. “A,” Alex guesses, and gets a head shake in return. “Roof?” he tries again, and gets a _keep going_ hand gesture in response. “House. Oh, book house. Library. Are we going there today?”

Nicky nods and starts packing. The library isn’t far, so they have an unspoken agreement never to drive there. Alex loads his stuff up and they walk outside, spraying the doorknobs with bleach and then starting down the broken, abandoned street.

It’s not as sunny as yesterday, which makes Alex nervous. The daylight is the first line of defense they have against the freaks, and both he and Nicky typically stay in when it actually looks like it might rain. Neither of them have a clue how much the freaks like or dislike rain, but neither of them wants to test that out. Today is just cloudy, so they’re probably fine, Alex reasons.

He glances at Nicky out of the corner of his eye. The blue lines make their way across all the parts of Nicky that have veins close to the surface, any place where there is no fat to cover it up. His eye sockets, the edges of his forehead, his lips.

(Alex knows from evenings, when he and Nicky change into sleep clothes, that Nicky’s stomach and chest remain untouched by the spindly marks. The fat tissue that decorates Nicky’s midsection keeps the infection from being visible. Alex tries not to _want_ , but the pale soft flesh is like an electric shock of desire every time.)

Nicky is sunburned from golfing yesterday; Alex thought that would help conceal the discoloration. Instead, it just makes them look a little grayish-purple. He doesn’t look any less sick, and Alex doesn’t care. He still finds Nicky beautiful.

When Alex has asked, Nicky has said: No, he was not married before. No, he was not dating anyone before. Alex has never gotten up the gall to ask if Nicky would date men, mostly because Nicky is the only person he knows, and to fuck that up would make Alex want to die. Nicky hadn’t asked the questions in return, and Alex had tried not to be discouraged by that.

Now, the part of his brain that lets him know that it’s a bad idea is apparently on a break. He opens his mouth and starts speaking before he can think better of it. “Before outbreak, I signed up for a dating website,” he says, apropos of nothing.

Nicky looks at him in surprise. Alex waves a hand, feigning nonchalance. “I had a big job, lots of time, responsibility, not a lot of time to meet people.”

_People,_ Nicky mouths. He’s doing question eyebrows, and Alex knows Nicky definitely caught the careful use of the word ‘people’ rather than ‘women.’

_This can’t possibly matter_ , Alex thinks to himself. His own anxiety at coming out to Nicky seems almost laughable.

He silently lists the reasons why it’s stupid to be nervous over _coming out_ , of all things: The world has ended. The streets are full of flesh-eating freaks. Nicky doesn’t seem like the type to care if Alex likes men as well as women. Their lives are focused solely on staying alive in a world where they’re the only two people they know. The apocalypse should outweigh any pre-existing religious convictions against guys that like other guys.

But he’s still afraid, and he’s angry at himself for being afraid. For the last year and a half, he’s been a fearless strong man that survived the outbreak. Now, though. Now he’s back to that trembling fear that he thought he left behind in his teenage years.

He’s got his reasons. Alex saw how a lot of people acted when the disease finally took hold of society. He’d thought that people would let go of their ugliest baggage and focus on survival. Unfortunately, a lot of people had thought their emotional suitcases of hatred would bring them shelter, and dug in with their heels into their foul beliefs.

_Fuck it,_ he thinks. “Yes. People.” He pauses. “Because I’m bisexual,” he adds, just to make sure he’s not so subtle that he has to come out again, has to deal with all this adrenaline _again_.

Nicky watches him and then makes their _keep going_ gesture with one hand.

Alex frowns. “Not just date women, I…” he starts to clarify, and then Nicky shakes his head briefly and reaches out in front of himself, like he’s typing on a computer. “Computer. Typing. Keep going,” Alex says out loud, trying to interpret what Nicky’s saying.

He realizes that Nicky’s demanding that Alex finish his anecdote, not asking for a definition of ‘bisexual.’ “Oh, that’s… that’s the story. Nothing else.” Nicky looks confused and disappointed at the not-story. “I’m just tell you that so that you know. To come out.”

Nicky nods agreeably, and then points at himself, and shakes his head. He holds out a hand to soften the tone of the gesture, and Alex knows what he’s saying: _no offense, but I’m not bi._

“Yeah, of course,” Alex says, trying not to let his tone get frosty. It feels like shit, somehow, that the first thing Nicky does after Alex comes out to him is re-iterate that he’s Not Interested, Thank You, as if he thought Alex was asking him out. “I didn’t say it because I think you are, I’m just talking about me.” The world has ended and straight guys still feel the need to reaffirm their straightness. Typical.

Nicky hits his arm a little. “What,” Alex asks grumpily.

Nicky glares at Alex, probably in response to Alex’s gruff tone. Alex doesn’t give a shit and starts walking again. After a few paces, he realizes Nicky has stopped moving. He lets his feet carry him a few more steps down the cluttered road, and then sighs internally before turning around.

“What,” he snaps. “Aren’t you coming?”

He’s mildly surprised by how annoyed Nicky looks, and lets himself turn around and shuffle back towards Nicky. They scowl at each other silently, the only noise coming from a breeze passing through the lush, untrimmed trees. Alex doesn’t want to go through the effort of explaining why he’s pissed off. The idea of it makes him tired.

Finally, Nicky holds his left hand out flat, and with his right hand, he holds an imaginary pencil. Alex moves a little closer so he can see better; it’s harder to communicate this way, but apparently Nicky needs to scold Alex with something they don’t have a gesture for yet.

Nicky goes letter-by-letter. “G,” Alex reads aloud. “A.” His stomach flutters. “Y.”  

It’s like Alex’s heart is a lawnmower engine and Nicky’s just reached in and yanked the cord to start it humming to life. “Oh, Nicky. I’m sorry,” Alex blurts, and he _is_ sorry for being rude, but he’s never heard better news in his life. Well. He hasn’t heard better news since the world ended. “I mean. Sorry for not understand. Not sorry you’re gay.”

Like so many of their short misunderstandings, Nicky gets over this one quickly. He smiles and bumps against Alex, reaching up to squeeze his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” Alex says again, smiling.

Nicky shakes his head and points at himself, then repeats the _No offense, but I’m not bi_ gesture again, and then visibly, theatrically cringes. He’s blaming himself now, and Alex smiles, knowing that the delirious happiness will sink in later.

Nicky taps his wrist and slices one hand through the air in a straight line, shakes his finger in a ‘no’ gesture, and gestures between himself and Alex.

_I should have said, ‘I’m not straight, either.’_

“I wish I could hear your voice,” Alex blurts, and even he wasn’t anticipating saying it. Nicky’s good mood falters and he lightly touches his own left cheek, as if he isn’t realizing he’s doing it. As usual, Alex hates him briefly, but gets over it just as fast.

That entire conversation took them to the doors of the library, and as they go inside, Alex once again thanks God that the library had ceilings that were partially glass. After the outbreak, the glass had all been broken, but the books were against the wall and protected from rain. Most importantly, the light from the missing roof and ceiling keeps the freaks out.

Nicky and Alex have never ventured to the library at the same time, and Alex marvels at how relaxed and at-home Nicky looks. He walks confidently towards a particular corner and Alex just follows, content to trust him. “You know everything here, huh?” he asks, admiring.

He’s met with a series of hand gestures: Nicky hesitates and then points at himself and then Alex, points at his wrist, points behind himself, and finally holds his hands out and gestures at the space around them. Alex takes a second to go through it.

_Before I met you, I spent a lot of time here._

“I can tell,” Alex replies. Nicky glows with the praise and continues on where he was going. Strangely, it’s not close to any actual books, and Alex is confused until Nicky hauls out some boxes from a wall. He tips one of the boxes to the side, and a massive roll of paper falls out. Nicky drops the box and unrolls the paper, and Alex leans in.

It’s a giant map of the area, and what’s more, Nicky’s been making notes on it. “You criminal,” Alex scolds gleefully. “You mark up public property. You do graffiti.”

Nicky rolls his eyes, but he smiles at the joke anyway. “Show me where you’re from,” Alex demands gleefully.

He’s met with some hesitation, and then Nicky points at a highlighted yellow mark in Virginia. Then, without explanation, he gets up and goes back to the shelf, gets another map, and puts it on top of the first. When he unrolls it, Alex sees it’s a world map. Nicky leans in and points to a particular area of Sweden. Nicky holds an imaginary baby, then puts his hand at toddler height and slowly raises it until it’s level with the top of his head.

Alex is a little ashamed he didn’t even know that Nicky was originally from another country, and then reminds himself that Nicky shares almost _nothing_ about his life pre-outbreak. Letting Alex know even one fact means they’re making progress on the whole ‘trust’ issue that Nicky’s got.

“You live in that part of Virginia, but you were born and grew up in Sweden,” Alex says, checking.

Nicky nods, and even though Alex tries not to pry at Nicky’s carefully constructed boundaries, he blurts out, “I can’t believe you don’t tell me that.” Something clicks in his brain and his eyes widen. “Do you have Swedish accent when you talk in English?”

The question seems to surprise Nicky a little, but he answers anyway, holding out a hand with his thumb and forefinger spread a little ways apart. A small accent, then.

Alex restrains himself from blurting out something about how much he wants to hear what Nicky’s accent sounds like. Instead, he merely says, “You’re my first Swedish friend.”

Nicky raises one eyebrow in disdain and draws a circle with his finger around the entire world map. Then, he points at himself, holds up a single finger, and then grabs Alex’s hand and gently forces him to do a fist bump.

_In the whole world, I’m your_ only _friend._

Alex bursts out laughing. Nicky rolls his eyes and then points at Alex and then at the map. Alex snickers a little and then leans in obediently, pointing toward the right part of Russia. “From here.” He shifts his finger around Russia a few times, indicating. “Lived there, there, and there, moved around during college, after college, worked here for a summer.” He flips the map up and points to the right part of Virginia. “Got hired and worked in office in DC, lived in Virginia.”

Nicky pushes the map aside and points vaguely at Russia, doing question eyebrows. When Alex gives him a blank look, Nicky makes a swooping gesture with a flat hand from one map to the other. “Oh, vacation? Go home and visit?” Nicky nods, and Alex has to look away. The emotional whiplash might show in his eyes if he doesn’t. “I did a couple times, years ago.”

He tries not to think about his hometown. He tries not to wonder if people are okay elsewhere, if there are places where the outbreak never happened, or if everyone he knows is gone. He tries not to wonder if the rest of the world has simply forgotten them. Given up on search and rescue, put up biohazard signs and called it a day. He tries to focus on the here and now, because he needs to stay alive, and the rest of the world might as well be on the moon.

He comes back to the here and now when Nicky touches his hand gently and points at something. Alex has to lean in and squint, but then he gets it: a very small island off of a chain of islands. It’s not anywhere close to where they are. Alex has no idea how Nicky expects them to get there, but he realizes Nicky’s remembering Alex’s three wishes. He rests a hand against Nicky’s shoulders and murmurs, “Someday.”

Nicky turns his head to look up at Alex, and he’s so close that their noses are almost bumping. It takes everything Alex has not to glance at Nicky’s lips. Instead, he watches Nicky tentatively smile up at him. They’re so close he can smell Nicky’s breath, sweet with the scent of the canned pineapple they ate during breakfast.

He clears his throat and straightens up, because kissing Nicky is not an option. He tries to organize his thoughts. “What are we here for?” he asks, hoping it doesn’t sound too bossy.

Nicky is apparently unoffended and after carefully putting the maps away, he walks up a flight of stairs, Alex obediently following. Up here is the non-fiction, and it’s even sunnier than the downstairs, and something is strange about it until Alex realizes: there are no bones on the floor, no rubble, no broken glass. Minimal dust. “You lived up here,” Alex realizes in a rush. “You sweep this place.”

Nicky holds out an imaginary broom, imitates sweeping, and then closes his eyes and tips his head to the side briefly. “You sweep and you sleep. Ha ha, very funny,” Alex says, grinning despite the sarcastic tone he takes. He gets a grin in response and follows Nicky as they walk through the aisles.

Before he knows it, they’ve stopped moving and Nicky’s plopped a book in his hands. _Ham Radio for Beginners_ , it says, and Alex groans in dread. “Why can’t you do this instead? The words are so long, it’s horrible, I don’t have a dictionary,” he starts.

Nicky’s face lights up and he makes his way down another aisle. Alex follows on autopilot. _English-Russian Dictionary_ is the next book slapped into his arms, and he grunts again. “I never want to see another Russian-English dictionary in my life since school,” he grumbles.

Nicky is heartlessly unsympathetic, grinning in glee at Alex’s complaints. That doesn’t stop Alex from whining. “Why don’t you—” he starts, before realizing the absolute obvious: Nicky can’t do it himself because Nicky can’t _talk._ If they got it all to work out, Nicky would get on the radio, hold his face up to the microphone… and then what? “Fine,” Alex says, trying to cover up his near-misstep. “I’m working on radio wave signals. Somehow. What are you working on?”

Nicky points at the _Ham Radio for Beginners_ book and then picks up a Swedish to English dictionary. Alex breaks into a beaming smile. “We’re working together!”

Nicky nods, and they take their books to one of the tables in the middle of the second floor. The sky still hasn’t followed through on its threats to open up and drench them in rain, so they spread the books out on the table and flip through dictionaries as needed. Alex knows his English is good, but words like _transmitters, antennas, hertz,_ and _electrons_ aren’t exactly top priority in his job or in his life.

The book is slow going, but he knows how to study. He and Nicky move at similar paces, and even though the library is without electricity and nobody else is there, he feels like he did when he was studying at the library during college—safe, tired, and productive.

The feeling lasts until the first drops of rain finally hit the pages. Alex jerks the books out of harm’s way, putting them all in a pile on a shelf that’s entirely protected from rain. He turns to look at Nicky and sees him sitting very still, his head tipped back and his eyes closed. It’s a bizarre image: the rain falling in an open room, Nicky sitting down at a table and letting it drip onto him steadily until it becomes more of a downpour. He’s beautiful, veins and all.

“We should go home,” Alex shouts over the sound of the downpour hitting tables, chairs, railings and the tile down on the first floor.

Nicky opens his eyes and smiles at Alex, and in that second, Alex knows that whatever delicate desire he has for Nicky isn’t just gratitude that Nicky’s in his life, isn’t just the fact that Nicky’s the only one that keeps Alex tethered. It’s something more, something that would still matter even before the outbreak. _Love,_ he thinks tentatively, and then it resonates through his entire being. _Love, love, love_.

They run home through the rain, dodging abandoned cars and big puddles, huge grins pasted on both their faces. They’re soaked within seconds but keep running, and Alex laughs, because the word _love_ keeps echoing around in his head. The world has ended but damn, Alex is so in love.

 

 

 

**NICKY USED TO:**

Nicky hasn’t ever shared what he _used to_ with Alex, but Alex isn’t dumb. He learns things even when Nicky doesn’t say them. He knows that Nicky’s well-educated, Nicky speaks at least two languages, he probably doesn’t have any family locally, he was alone too before he met Alex (for how long, Alex can’t tell). He’s probably used those knives to defend himself against freaks, and he’s been a lot of different places in the city.

Everyone’s past leads up to their present, Alex reasons, and tries to divine Nicky’s past from his present. He makes notes in a mental notebook about Nicky, hoping someday to fit the facts together into a puzzle so it all makes sense. Notes like this:

_Nicky insists we eat fruits and vegetables. Nicky likes drama movies the most. Nicky likes sports and exercise. Nicky can’t drive stick shift. Nicky likes wearing dull colors. Nicky has managed to stay in Stage 1 of infection for at least eight months and counting._

 

 

 

**NOW**

That night, after they get home, dry off, and put on clean clothes courtesy of the house’s former owners, they eat dinner out of cans and settle down on the couch. “What kind of movie?” Alex asks, as usual.

Nicky surprises him by pointing straight at him, and then using one hand to make a ‘talk’ gesture. “You want me to talk about me?” Alex asks, and Nicky motions ‘keep going.’ “You want me to talk about—oh, you want a story about me?” Alex asks, and Nicky nods.

“Well, hmm,” Alex starts, thinking. He tries to remember his life before the outbreak, and all of his stories seems sorta stupid. The shit he used to care about. The things he did. Maybe something from his childhood. “When I was five, I was playing pond hockey,” he starts, and then an unearthly yowling noise stuns him into silence.

For a horrific half-second, he’s worried the sound came from Nicky, but of course it didn’t. Nicky looks just as horrified as Alex. They both get very still, listening to the noise coming from outside the house. The room they’re in has no windows, and they cleaned off their scent from the porch and the doorknob and Alex mentally runs through his entire checklist as fast as he can. They locked everything, turned off every light, shoved towels under all the doors that come between them and the front steps.

He and Nicky stare at each other in horror as the yowling continues. It sounds like it’s getting closer until it’s abruptly cut off and Alex knows that the screaming one probably just got eaten by another freak. Another freak hanging out around the house.

Nicky sits up straighter and Alex carefully gets off the couch, making as little noise as possible. He makes his way over to where he sleeps on the floor so Nicky can try to stretch out on the too-short couch. Nicky turns off the flashlight and they’re plunged into darkness, and there’s a horrific yowl from a different direction, this time.

Alex lays on his back rigidly, staring at nothing. He can’t see anything, it’s so dark, and he tries to breathe normally as if he’s not a few flimsy walls away from hungry, starving, angry freaks. He remembers those ten months spent before Nicky, and knows he won’t sleep well that night.

 

 

**AFTER THE OUTBREAK:**

Alex had taken Nicky back with him without a second thought. He’d babbled at him the entire way to the house he’d called home at the time, telling Nicky everything he knew about the outbreak, about the city, about where to find food. He hadn’t been able to stop babbling, and Nicky had listened attentively to every single word. Nicky had even done the graceful thing and not mentioned how Alex randomly had to swipe tears off of his cheeks.  

The first major problem had been when he’d gotten Nicky into his house. It was only when Nicky was finally inside that Alex had remembered the mannequins he’d stolen from the mall and put in the living room, the kitchen, and the dining room. He’d done it in a fit of loneliness, and he spoke to them often. It hadn’t seemed so terrible until Nicky came in, and Alex saw what he must look like through Nicky’s eyes: sad, weird, completely losing his mind out of sheer isolation.

His shame must have been written all over his face, because Nicky had patted his shoulder and then walked up to the closest mannequin. Nicky gently “shook” its stationary hand, smiling in a greeting. Alex exhaled in relief and Nicky smiled at him, pointing at himself and then holding up a single finger. Alex had automatically tried to follow what Nicky was saying. “Just you?” he’d guessed.

Nicky shook his head a little, repeated the gesture, and then pressed his hand against his heart. “You, one, feel,” Alex said, and then it clicked, and he murmured softly: “You feel lonely.”

Nicky had nodded quickly and Alex rasped, “Me, too.”

They’d left the mannequins in that house once they moved on to their next living place, but Alex had watched with watery eyes as Nicky silently waved goodbye to each of them.

 

 

 

**NOW**

There are days when Nicky is gone before Alex wakes up, and this is apparently one of them. Nicky disappears without explanation for stretches of time, and while Alex can’t begrudge him his privacy, he worries a little when Nicky’s not within sight. It’s not that he thinks he can protect Nicky from anything; Nicky protects himself just fine. Alex just… doesn’t like being alone. Not like this, not now.

He goes to the library by himself and keeps studying the radio book. Progress is slow going and describes a lot of equipment he doesn’t have that he’s not sure where to get. He learns it all anyway, absorbing it all as theory rather than practice, and eventually takes a break by basking in the afternoon sun.

A thought flutters through his mind and he snaps to attention, roaming the shelves until he finds what he wants. It’s wrinkled from humidity like the other books, but still usable, and he flips through the pages excitedly. _Classic Recipes of Sweden_ wasn’t written with the apocalypse in mind, but Alex can try to adapt. Maybe he can find a house with a grill. A grill that hasn’t been knocked over by wind, rain, snow, or freaks. A grill that still has usable charcoal near it.

His plan is absolutely unlikely to work but he refuses to let reality dampen his spirits. He finds a recipe that involves minimal cooking. Maybe he can find it all in cans already. He rips the page out of the book and stuffs it in his pocket before forcing himself to return to the radio book.

_I’m in love with Nicky_ pops into his head while he’s trying to concentrate. _Love, love, love. And Nicky likes men_. None of it is helping him learn radio technology, so he closes all his books and puts them where they’re safe from weather. He makes his way downstairs and walks outside and down the middle of the street. The rain seems to have already made the neighborhood greener and he feels like he’s glowing.

He’s beaming all the way back to the house, until he sees that Nicky’s sitting in front of their house’s door. Nicky doesn’t do that, just sit on the stoop like that, and Alex can see that Nicky’s hands are shaking and his eyes are rolling back in his head and then correcting themselves and then rolling back again. He bolts forward to lean over and grab Nicky’s shoulders. “Nicky. Nicky, get inside, get to basement,” he orders, trying to cover his fear with imperiousness.

Nicky shakes his head side to side with some difficulty and squeezes one of Alex’s wrists. Alex’s logic faculties are utterly shut down from dead panic, so he can’t tell at all what Nicky’s trying to say, only that Nicky won’t go inside. Nicky keeps trembling, but his eyes start focusing on Alex for longer stretches before they roll back, and Alex blurts, “Is it stopping?”

Nicky nods with his shaky head, very slowly and deliberately, and Alex leans in and sits down by him. He keeps his arms around Nicky. It’s horrible to watch, and horrible to feel the tremors make their way through Nicky, without a fucking thing he can do to stop them. He pushes his face into Nicky’s neck and cringes at how cold the skin there is. “Just stay calm,” he says to Nicky, as if Nicky’s got any fucking choices, here. “Relax. Be over soon.”

It turns out he’s not wrong. Alex has no idea how long it lasts, but the sun hasn’t changed positions. By the time Nicky’s tremors have stopped, his coloring has improved, too, and Alex cautiously looks him over. “You going to be okay?”

Nicky nods his head sleepily, like surviving that attack took all the energy out of him. “Good time for nap,” Alex says, trying to cover up his own post-panic adrenaline crash. “Let’s take a nap together.”

They go inside, and Nicky can move on his own power now. They spray the steps with bleach, lock the doors, shove towels below everything, and turn out all the lights even though it’s still daytime. Neither of them can guarantee they’ll still wake up before the freaks do.

As Alex takes off his pants to change into sweats, he hears a crinkle in his pocket. _The recipe_ , he remembers. Nicky is already fast asleep, so he carefully takes the recipe and puts it between the pages of a book that Nicky will most likely never care to read and slides the book back onto the shelf.

 

 

 

**ALEX USED TO:**

Alex got the notice a few weeks after his fateful meeting with Mr. Anderson. It was a formal email claiming that due to Alex’s “stellar performance,” he was being awarded a raise. He stared at it blankly and then looked at his new pay.  _Who the fuck gets a twenty percent raise in the middle of the fiscal year?_ Alex thought, and immediately knew the answer: _an underling cooking the books._

He tried to feel bad about it, but all he could think of was his rent and his job security and his recommendations from crucial board members. In the end, he closed the email and went back to work. _If I don’t do it, someone else will_ , Alex thought to himself, and opened up the file he’d been putting his attention on.

 

 

 

**NOW**

Nicky comes home after one of his mystery trips with a bright expression, like he’s been lit up from the inside. Alex smiles reflexively in response and asks, “What’s up?”

The response is unclear. Nicky holds up one arm like he’s cradling a baby, and the other arm like he’s… petting the baby? “You petted a baby,” Alex guesses, grinning.

Nicky gives him a vaguely scathing look in response and then looks around for pen and paper. They don’t resort to it much, because it’s slower and clumsier than their private improvised sign language. Alex guesses now, too, that since Nicky’s first language isn’t English, he might be as enthusiastic about constantly writing in English as Alex is enthusiastic about constantly reading English, which is to say: not very.

This time, Nicky scribbles a picture. It’s clumsy and poorly drawn but it’s very clearly a cat. Alex perks up. “You saw a cat!”

Nicky nods enthusiastically and Alex beams at him, because they never see anything bigger than a rat. This means the freaks are losing their touch, losing some of their influence over the city’s ecosystem. “How big was the cat?” Alex asks, and Nicky holds his hands out to indicate that the cat was the size of… a housecat. Unhelpful. “I mean, did it look hungry? Starving?”

Nicky shakes his head quickly and rubs his own well-developed tummy. _Well-fed_ , Alex thinks. “Probably it’s eating the rats,” he says out loud, and Nicky nods in agreement. “Why didn’t you catch it? We could have had a pet.”

 The response is a few straight lines added behind the cat. Clearly, the cat ran away, but Alex can’t resist messing with Nicky. The three lines coming out of the back of the cat kind of look like… “Oh, because it farted,” Alex says, feigning sadness.

Nicky smacks Alex’s shoulder but he’s breathing roughly and grinning widely. Alex knows that this is the hardest he’s ever seen Nicky laugh. “You’re so picky,” he says, just to keep Nicky chuckling. “Not trying to catch the farting cat. I would love a cat, even if it farts a lot!”

It’s fucking fart jokes and the world has ended and Nicky’s doubled over laughing. The giggles are silent other than shaky breathing, but it’s Nicky’s laughter, and Alex feels like he’s on top of the fucking world.

 

 

 

**AFTER THE OUTBREAK:**

Alex had expected Nicky to be gone after two or three days, but after an entire week had passed and Nicky still hadn’t crossed into Stage 2, he’d finally had to question the best thing in his entire life.

Nicky had been drinking from one of the water bottles they’d taken from the gas station. Alex had had to pause and take a second to just admire the swallowing of Nicky’s throat. At the time, he hadn’t admitted to himself yet how beautiful Nicky was. Once he could focus again, he asked, “Why aren’t you in stage 2?”

The pause before Nicky answered him had lasted so long that Alex knew that the response would probably be a lie. That, or the answer was too complicated, and Nicky didn’t want to sign it. The eventual reply was a shrug of Nicky’s shoulders.

_Fine, okay_ , Alex had thought, regrouping. It was fine if Nicky had secrets, but it wasn’t fine if those secrets could lead to Alex getting killed. There were some questions he was fundamentally allowed to ask. “How long you’ve been in stage 1?” he’d asked.

Nicky had looked like a deer in headlights at that question, and Alex had understood that it was phrased terribly in the first place; Alex kept careful track of the passage of time, but even _he_ might have missed some days after having forgotten to cross them off on his calendars. Nicky probably hadn’t carried around a calendar, because it’d be useless dead weight. Days of the week weren’t a real thing by then.

“Long time, or short time?” Alex had clarified. “Days or months?”

Nicky’d held out his hands close together and looked at Alex. Alex had caught the idea and said, “Days,” and Nicky had increased the space between his hands until they were shoulder width apart. “Weeks, maybe months,” Alex had said. Nicky had put his hands down and nodded.

That hadn’t been as helpful or useful as Alex had hoped, but it didn’t really matter. Finally, he’d asked the question that mattered the most: “Do you think you going into stage 2 soon?”

The vehement shake of Nicky’s head in response was exactly what he’d wanted. He hadn’t meant to, but from that point on, he’d built his life around the assumption that Nicky would never go into stage 2.


	2. Immunity

#  TWO. ALEX.

 

**NOW**

Alex gradually gets fed up with sleeping on the floor but firmly refuses to ask Nicky to switch. Nicky needs a soft surface; he’s sick. Alex’s first instinct would be to move, to go to another house and take it over. Something inside him doesn’t want to, though—doesn’t want to make it harder for Nicky, whose episodes seem to be getting closer together. Doesn’t want to move again, wants to hold on as long as he can to the place they’re calling home. Nicky seems to like their house too, or at least, he hasn’t brought up the idea of moving. Maybe that means something. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything.

Regardless, he’s not going to suggest moving; Nicky’s secret basement plans would complicate things, and it’d be easier to just stay put and not bother. He chews on his breakfast (a can of pears and a can of baked beans) and sleepily watches Nicky eat, trying to figure out a plan.

Nicky reaches out and touches Alex’s hand. It’s electrifying, and Alex is suddenly brightly awake. “Uh,” he says thoughtlessly, and Nicky presses his palms together and rests his left cheek on the back of one of his hands, tipping his head to the side.

“Not really,” Alex admits. “Floor is getting too hard.”

Nicky thinks it over, gray-green eyes alight in the morning sun. He’s unfairly beautiful even with his eyelids almost entirely blue. The backs of his hands each have their own navy patterns, and Alex wants to feel those patterns against his skin.

He realizes he must have zoned out when Nicky taps the back of his hand again. He watches attentively as Nicky points at the flight of stairs that leads to the second story of the house. Nicky gets up and beckons him with a hand.

The breakfast sucks and Nicky’s asking for something; it’s a no-brainer for Alex to immediately stand. Nicky is still in his sock feet and shuffles up the wooden staircase in front of an obediently following Alex. The bedrooms up here aren’t safe, even if they’re comfortable; every room has a window, and freaks fearlessly shatter windows when they think food is on the other side. They don’t even notice it if they get cut.

Nicky heads straight for the master bedroom. Alex has only been here once before, to try to get some new shirts, but the clothes were all too small. Nicky stops beside the master bed and taps it with a hand.

“Can’t sleep here. It’s not safe.” Alex is confused. “You know that.”

The glare he gets in return is kind of funny in its fury. Nicky grabs the edge of the mattress and points back to where they came. Then, he braces himself and lifts his side of the mattress, staring pointedly across the room at Alex.

“Oh, of course,” Alex blurts, finally getting it. He lifts his own side and they tip it vertically, Alex backing up while Nicky heads forward. The mattress is heavy and stupidly wide, and they break almost everything that was hanging in the hallway as they get to the stairs. “Going down stairs, now,” Alex says, almost shouting, as if Nicky’s not two steps away from him.

He lurches downstairs slowly, knocking over a long-dead potted plant. When he arrives at the bottom of the staircase, he’s out of breath. They have to wedge themselves in awkward positions to get around the corner, but after that, they can just drag it towards the windowless room where they sleep. Alex thinks it was someone’s study, and Nicky’s guessed that it was a storage room. Then, they’d both deliberately stopped talking about who’d lived there before. About why those people weren’t there anymore.

The mattress is so big that it takes up a good section of the floor and Nicky has to release his end to hastily shove the couch closer to the wall. Alex lets the mattress fall down and they both flinch at the volume—it’s broad daylight so they won’t attract any freaks, but the city is so quiet that all noise seems startling. Alex goes upstairs and silently retrieves the sheets and blankets that have fallen off, and when he gets back downstairs, Nicky is holding the sheets and blankets from the couch in his arms.

Something dangerous and thrilling curls up at the base of Alex’s spine and makes itself at home. “You thought we’d sleep together?” he asks, trying to sound neutral about the idea.

Nicky looks at the couch and bends his knees briefly before straightening up and touching the top of his head. _I’m too tall and have to curl up_ , he means.

“Then I could sleep on the couch,” Alex says, with no real desire to do so.

Nicky frowns and then holds his hand a little above his own head before pointing at Alex.

Alex knows that Nicky’s correctly indicating that Alex is taller than him; if Nicky’s scrunched up on the couch, then it’ll be even worse for Alex. But Alex doesn’t want Nicky to feel guilted into sleeping next to him, so Alex remains carefully neutral. “Yeah, I’m taller, but I can bend my knees fine. It’s okay, Nicky, I can sleep on the couch, you on the mattress.”

This gives Nicky pause, and he swallows. His gaze drops and Alex waits patiently as Nicky seems to take a minute to figure out how he’s going to say what he wants to say.

When Nicky finally raises his hands to speak again, his expression is closed off. He points at Alex, and then at Alex’s left cheek. Then, he gestures at himself, shapes his fingers like claws, points at Alex and then shakes his head furiously.

_You’re immune_ , he’d meant, and _I won’t hurt you._

Alex doesn’t understand why Nicky’s saying that, and then realizes in horror that Nicky thinks Alex is deliberately trying to keep him far away. He thinks Alex is afraid of him, and Alex swallows his horror and takes a step closer without meaning to. “Not what I mean. I know you’re not gonna hurt me, never ever gonna hurt me. No, I mean, you don’t have to be close to me, if you don’t want to.”

Nicky seems to relax at that, shoulders dropping, and then gives Alex a look of utter disdain. It’s a relief to see Nicky exasperated instead of tense, and Alex bursts out laughing. “You think I’m stupid?” Alex asks. “Worry about dumb thing?”

In response, Nicky nods vehemently, even though he’s pretending he’s not smiling. He touches his own chest, points at Alex, waves both hands vaguely toward the bed and then gives a thumbs-up.

“Okay, we share,” Alex agrees, and gleefully accepts the sheets that Nicky tosses at him. Together, they get the bed made, and Alex flops down on the left half. “This is my side,” he says, flopping down on it.

In response, Nicky frowns and taps his wrist before pointing upward. _The sun is still up._

“I don’t care, it’s already time for nap. We worked so hard moving the mattress.” Alex reaches out for Nicky, warm and teasing. “Come!”

Nicky carefully evades Alex’s arms, but settles down on the other half of the mattress-bed, resting his head against his pillow. They both stay on their backs for a minute, staring up at the ceiling. For a few perfect minutes, Alex forgets why they’re there, and that Nicky’s ill, and that the world’s ended.

He feels more than hears it when Nicky turns his head towards Alex. Alex stays looking up, letting Nicky watch him. He knows Nicky will look away if he knows he’s caught, and Alex lets his eyes fall shut, letting Nicky look his fill.

Alex has never given a shit which side of the bed he sleeps on, but right now, he’s getting what he wants: for this one moment, Nicky can’t see the dark X on Alex’s left cheek. He can just see Alex.

 

 

 

**ALEX USED TO:**

There were times when Alex would lay awake at night thing about audits, about cuts, about mergers. About subpoenas and prison and trials. He knew it took its toll when TJ looked at him one morning and said, “Babe, you look awful. Do you have mono or something?”

_This can’t go on_ , Alex thought.

He texted Mr. Anderson as soon as TJ wandered off. _Call me Harry_ , Mr. Anderson had said, as if by participating in white collar crime together, they were pals. _Need to meet you_ , Alex texted.

_Lunch? Same place as before?_ Mr. Anderson texted back within seconds, and Alex agreed.

He spent the rest of the morning trying to stay awake. TJ dropped by again and asked Alex to join him for lunch, but Alex begged off and tried to make noises about having lunch the next day. The next day would be a Saturday, TJ reminded him, and Alex conceded that he was simply too tired to function.

Lunch was at the same cloth-napkins place that they’d had it before, and Alex tried not to yawn in front of Mr. Anderson. Fortunately, Mr. Anderson seemed to notice the problem right away. “You’re losing sleep?”

“Yes. Because of…” Alex didn’t know how to finish the sentence.

Turned out he didn’t need to. “You work so hard,” Mr. Anderson said, and he actually sounded sympathetic. He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a little square of sticky paper, and scribbled on it. “I’ve got a doctor—great guy. You should just let him know I sent you, he can help you out.”

Alex wasn’t sure what happened, but he didn’t end up saying what he’d meant to: _I’m out of this._ Instead, he’d called a doctor’s office, made an appointment, and clarified that it was Mr. Anderson that sent him. He drove to the doctor, who suddenly was able to see him on the same day, and Alex walked out of the office with three prescriptions waiting for him at the pharmacy near his apartment.

The doctor had just weighed him and asked how Harry was doing. Alex knew he shouldn’t take the pills.

Alex took the pills. Within seconds, his eyelids were heavy, and he slept more blissfully than he had in months.

 

 

 

**NOW**

Alex wakes up in an empty bed and immediately feels like shit. His mood gets worse when he investigates the rest of the house and finds Nicky missing, probably off on one of his day-long mystery trips that he doesn’t trust Alex enough to tell him about.

(Nicky claims that’s not the case, but then doesn’t answer any of Alex’s questions and swiftly changes the subject. Alex wants to demand of him, _either tell me where you go or just admit you don’t trust me, but don’t lie to me like this_. He never has, though, out of a fear that Nicky would choose the latter.)

Alex fumes in the front hallway for a while, but mid-sulk he notices Nicky’s shoes sitting by the door.

_Still here, then_ , Alex thinks, and then realizes: _the basement_. Nicky must’ve been having one of his spells. He softens as he’s looking at the shoes, and then realizes disconcertingly that the soles are almost worn through at the heels. Does Nicky not notice? Alex picks up the right shoe and examines it, and guesses Nicky hasn’t changed his shoes since the outbreak.

The basement door opens and Alex strides over to Nicky, holding up the shoe. “Nicky, today let’s go to the mall. You need better shoes.”

Nicky ignores everything Alex is saying, waves a hand in greeting and then points at Alex. He presses his palms together and rests his cheek against one, then holds up a thumbs up while doing question eyebrows.

_Good morning. Did you sleep well?_

Alex knows he was being rude but doesn’t really care. “Yeah, until I wake up and you’re gone and your shoes are wrecked. C’mon, let’s go shoe shopping.”

Nicky rolls his eyes a little, flicks the air and taps his wrist. _Waste of time._

“No. That’s stupid, come on. Shoes are important. Let’s go,” Alex orders, and Nicky’s mouth turns up at the corners. He takes the shoe out of Alex’s hand and they both get ready, getting shoes and a couple jackets. Alex thinks about the best route to take to the mall. “We’ll drive,” he declares.

Nicky nods and grabs the bleach spray. They take a while to get out of the house, and while they do have plenty of time for shoe shopping, it seems like that will probably be the day’s main activity. The air smells like rain; the clouds are heavy above them. The sidewalks are dry, so Alex knows they can expect a downpour during the night.

They buckle up in the car of the week, and Alex carefully weaves around the potholes and debris of the end of the world. Nicky pokes at buttons near Alex’s hands and when the sunroof slides back, Nicky unbuckles his seat belt and stands up on his seat, sticking his head and torso up out of the car. “Nicky, you hooligan,” Alex scolds without meaning a single word. He successfully ignores the desire to use his right hand to grasp Nicky’s thigh to steady him; instead, he just drives a little slower.

The drive isn’t long, and Nicky probably just wants fresh air and the sun on his face. Alex parks on the sidewalk that leads up to the door of the mall, or at least what used to be the door until freaks broke all the glass. The thought of glass brings Alex back to the subject at hand: getting Nicky newer, better shoes. “Apocalypse is full of glass,” Alex hollers up at Nicky, who’s gradually lowering himself back into the car. “You’re an idiot. Let’s get lots of pairs of shoes.”

They climb out and Alex barely bothers to close his door. Nicky taps the hole where the sunroof should go, and points at the sky. Alex shrugs. “Eh, we come back before it starts raining.”

Nicky clearly doesn’t believe Alex but follows him through the river of broken glass anyway. The mall had skylights that have shattered in, but if they stay close to the storefronts, they don’t have to walk in the fallen shards. Alex fights a sudden, bizarre urge to hold Nicky’s hand like they’re a couple having a fun Saturday out browsing window displays. Birds fly in and out freely, and the trees that the mall had planted in pots as decoration have grown big with time and age. They’re lush with nourishment from sun and rainwater. One of them has burst through its pot, the roots exposed against the dirt spilled across the tiles.

They pass a store that used to sell liquor. The stakes are too high to actually take any, but Alex has to at least make a joke. “I’m going to stay here, get shitfaced. Too drunk to drive, you’ll have to drive me home.”

Nicky shakes his head, and then holds his left hand up like he’s holding the steering wheel and his right hand down on the imaginary gear shift. Then, he shrugs, and Alex remembers: Nicky can’t drive that car. His blood runs cold with another realization: they fucked up, they really fucked up.

He freezes, and Nicky looks at him quizzically. Alex blurts, “We fucked up. If I get hurt, you’re stuck. And the freaks come out.”

Predictably, Nicky makes a tiny face at ‘freaks’ but then reaches out and touches Alex’s shoulder. He shakes his head, points at Alex and then gives a thumbs-up. “I know I’m not hurt now,” Alex responds, “but what if—”

He’s interrupted by a couple gentle smacks to his shoulder. Nicky seems to be frustrated with not knowing how to express himself, and he rubs at his face briefly as he thinks. He touches Alex’s shoulder and then points behind himself. Then, he pulls up one of his pant legs and touches the knife strapped to his calf, and touches his own chest.

It takes Alex a second, but then he fucking _gets_ it, and he starts sweating.

_Get behind me. I have a knife, I’ll protect you._

“You’re the knight, I’m the princess?” Alex asks, grinning uncertainly. He’s hoping the joke distracts Nicky from the sudden flush that’s surely building up on his ears. There’s a determined and defensive look in Nicky’s eyes that makes tingles spread from the crook of Alex’s neck all the way down his ribs. “You stab the dragon for us?”

Nicky smiles a little and nods.

Something about what he expressed to Alex is off-putting, though, and it takes Alex a second to figure it out. “Protect yourself first,” Alex orders him, humor falling away.

The shrug he gets in response is unsatisfactory, so Alex starts to lecture. “Knives are for you. Save yourself. Drive car in first gear, doesn’t matter.”

A literal shadow passes over Nicky’s face and Alex looks up towards the open sky, watching as a hawk flies over the open roof of the mall. “Predators are coming back,” he says, unable to contain his delight. Predators mean prey, and hawks wouldn’t be coming back if there were just rats. “It’s coming back to life.”

When he looks back down, Nicky’s looking at him with something raw in his eyes that makes Alex’s heart start to race. He can’t break eye contact, as if Nicky’s got him spellbound. Alex swallows and Nicky’s gaze drops to watch the movement of Alex’s throat. When he hastily looks back up, his lips tighten like he knows he’s been caught.

Even though Nicky’s face is always tinged in blue, at this moment, his cheeks are turning a dusty grayish-lavender. It’s not something Alex has noticed before and he’s concerned for a full two seconds before realizing with a jolt what’s happening.

_Oh Christ, he’s blushing, and the pink with his normal blue makes that color_ , Alex thinks, and swallows thickly.

Nicky’s fucking blushing. Alex is sweating through his shirt. The moment draws out.

Nicky pulls back first, awkwardly rubbing his hands together and looking at the surrounding stores. He shuffles his feet as if to remind himself why they’re even at the mall in the first place. Alex wants to grab his jaw and make him look back, stretch the feeling out longer, but it’s passed. He merely follows as Nicky heads into a shoe store so bland that it makes Alex want to scream.

“This place is awful,” he says, frowning at the sheer amount of old people shoes. It’s like the store is half children’s shoes and half old people shoes, and Alex thinks Nicky has no reason to be there. “Let’s go somewhere else.”

Down one of the old people shoe aisles, Nicky has picked up a model shoe. He holds it up for Alex’s inspection. “Are you joking?” Alex responds, frowning. “Would rip up on one little piece of glass. Come on.”

Nicky puts the shoe back down and comes back over to Alex, putting his hands on his hips. It’s not a gesture that the two of them actually planned out and use regularly; it’s just Nicky being impatient. “Let’s find somewhere fun. Somewhere better,” Alex says, and leads the way, making sure Nicky follows.

After walking in silence past a few more abandoned shops, they come across a store that carries skateboards, hats, and shoes. Alex is mesmerized by all the patterns. “This is better,” he announces brightly, and holds up a pair of thick tie-dye sneakers. “Look! So cool!”

The response he gets is less than enthusiastic; Nicky gestures at the store they’re in and holds his hand at about chest level, and it takes Alex a second to get it. “You think this store is for kids,” he guesses.

Nicky raises his hand just a little. “Teenagers,” Alex concludes. “But who cares? World is over. Shop where you want.”

He gets a skeptical look in response. Nicky makes an expansive gesture that indicates all of Alex’s clothing, including his shoes, and then wiggles his fingers like they’re sparkling. He touches the back of his wrist and then his own back. Finally, he points at the store full of bright shoes and baseball caps.

_All of your clothes – sparkling – time – back – this store._

It takes Alex a second to fit it together, but then he straightens up proudly. “Of course I shop where I want before outbreak. I like bright things.” Nicky rolls his eyes, but the twitch of his lip is fond, and Alex beams back at him.

There’s a crashing noise from somewhere in the mall’s walking area and their smiles fall immediately. _It’s not dark yet_ , Alex thinks mid-panic. His heartbeat speeds up as Nicky calmly, calmly walks to the door of the store and looks down the mall’s main hallway. Only the fear of alerting a freak keeps Alex from calling out to Nicky: _what the fuck are you doing, you’re going to die_.

Nicky beckons him with an easy, loose wave of his hand. Alex is at his side in seconds, right hand magnetically going to Nicky’s lower back and resting there. He follows Nicky’s gaze and sees a cardboard box flopped on its side, and the hawk from earlier struggling with something so small that they’re too far away to see it. He exhales in relief and _fuck_ , he wants to go home. “I want to go home,” he mumbles. When Nicky obediently turns to walk back towards the car, Alex adds, “After getting shoes. What do you want?”

They start walking down the hallway again and Alex realizes he never took his hand off Nicky. The fact of it makes his face heat and he jerks away, hoping Nicky didn’t notice that Alex just got all flushed and sweaty from merely touching Nicky’s back through his smelly shirt. Alex’s luck has always been shit, though, because Nicky glances over for a moment, expression blank, before picking up his pace.

Alex follows, and sits down on a rotting, dirty bench outside the sporting goods store while Nicky browses. Of _course_ Nicky would go for something practical. Alex watches as Nicky tries on a pair of shoes and then absent-mindedly looks in the mirror to see how they look, and—

—and Nicky freezes, staring at his reflection, body rigid and eyes wide.

All the houses they’ve ever stayed in have had bathroom mirrors. Nicky’s never covered any up with sheets or paper. While watching Nicky stare at himself, though, Alex realizes he’s never seen Nicky _look_ in one of them. Nicky’s facial hair is patchy, grows slowly, and is usually cut raggedly. Previously, Alex had just assumed that that was because Nicky didn’t care. He’d never thought that Nicky might chop it off without looking because he didn’t want to face his own reflection.

_Why’s he looking now,_ Alex thinks, stomach twisting a little. _Why did he forget to not look?_

Nicky takes a deep breath in and lets it out slowly, staring at his own face, transfixed. He leans even closer to the mirror, staring at his own eyes.

_Maybe Nicky forgot that the world ended_ , Alex thinks _, forgot he was sick, because he was thinking about shoe shopping._

Nicky turns his head this way and that, seemingly not even blinking as he looks at himself.

_Maybe Nicky forgot to avoid the mirror because he was thinking about me,_ Alex thinks. Hopes.

Nicky reaches up to touch one of the dark veins that lines his eye socket. Before his fingers make it there, his whole arm jerks in shock. Immediately, he’s looking down at the veins on the backs of his hands; privately, Alex thinks the veins on the back of Nicky’s left hand look like an arrow, and the veins on the back of the right look like a ship’s anchor, and both of them would make really cool tattoos.

Maybe Nicky doesn’t even look at his own hands very often. Maybe Nicky’s just in shock and needs to be pulled out of it.

“Yes, you’re beautiful,” Alex yells. “Can we hurry? You already know you’re hot.”

This seems to snap Nicky out of his weird trance and he looks over at Alex. He seems to take a moment to gather his thoughts before pointing down at his new shoes. They’re very practical, and they look like they’d be comfortable and quiet, but they’re boring. “Boring!” Alex yells in response.

Nicky rolls his eyes and disappears down an aisle for a minute before returning, holding up the same pair of shoes but in bright neon blue. Alex feels his entire face light up, and his “Yes!” is so enthusiastic and loud that it sends Nicky into a fit of silent gasping laughter.

After Nicky puts the neon blue pair in a bag and steps out of the shop, Alex stands up to walk back over to the car with him. His hand finds the small of Nicky’s back again, and neither of them mention it. The stores around them are messy, dusty, and full of shit that Alex can’t believe used to matter. People used to spend their time and energy on things like this. Alex used to spend his time and money on things like this. Nicky probably did, too.

“Someday,” Alex starts, mouth moving without his permission, “when we can get a big house, something nice, we can take these things. We can get a fridge, and oven, and closets. Big wardrobes.”

Nicky holds up his arms and makes a petting gesture. Clearly, he’s still stuck on the cat he saw the other day, and clearly Alex needs to mess with him. “You want a baby? We can’t make one, sorry,” Alex says, and Nicky predictably bursts into silent laughter.

Alex can’t stay straight-faced to save his life but he continues his one-man stand-up routine through his beaming smile. “We should start a book club with the neighbors. Drink red wine, eat some cheese, talk about _War and Peace_. But we can’t invite freaks because they eat all the cheese, and then eat all the neighbors.”

If he really were doing stand-up, Alex would think he’s bombing right now because the entire building is silent. Nicky, however, has to stop walking because his silent gasp-laughing is too strong. Alex keeps his hand on Nicky’s back, feeling his warm skin through the shirt.

 

 

 

**NICKY USED TO:**

Alex would expect Nicky to have nightmares or insomnia. It’s the only logical thing—they’re living in hell. At least, the first months after the outbreak were hell, and even now, Alex takes a long time to fall asleep, often has nightmares, and wakes easily. He’d expect the same of Nicky, especially because Nicky was infected. Nicky had a lot to be afraid of. Nicky’s brain literally had a disease, so nightmares and insomnia would make sense.

It’s not like that for Nicky. At all. He’ll lay down and sleep right through the night. At first, Alex was jealous, and tried to figure out what magical power Nicky had that Alex himself didn’t. Did Nicky believe in a religion? Did Nicky have a delusional but optimistic spirit? Was Nicky simply feigning restful sleep for Alex’s benefit?

One afternoon, Alex was sitting on their front steps, pretending to read a book and really just waiting for Nicky to come home after one of his mystery day trips. Nicky had eventually come walking down the street, one sleeve covered in blue freak blood, and passed Alex without even having seemed to see him. Alex had always known Nicky carried knives, but didn’t know how many times Nicky had had to use them to defend himself against freak attacks.

As Nicky went inside, Alex followed, and watched as Nicky took the shirt off and started cleaning it in the sink with some bottled water and a bar of soap. Nicky was still wearing a clean-ish white undershirt underneath, and after rinsing his arms off, Alex saw that Nicky hadn’t been injured during whatever altercation he’d had with a freak. Nicky had won, then, but neither of them were really the types to think of it as _winning_.

Nicky was visibly shell-shocked, his adrenaline rapidly crashing, so Alex spoke gently. “Hey, Nicky.”

Nicky hadn’t turned. Three repeats of ‘hey’ later, Nicky had finally looked up and faced Alex, and it was like changing a radio station. His face had lit up in recognition, like he’d been somewhere else, dissociated from the horrors he had seen. It’s like he’d blacked out after he’d fought the freak, walked home and started cleaning on autopilot, and hadn’t come back to himself until Alex said his fourth ‘hey.’

He had put the shirt down and started gesturing to Alex about his day. He’d left out whatever relevant information pertained to his bloody button-up and instead told Alex about finding some canned fish and what he wanted to make with it.

Alex had then realized: Nicky wasn’t superhuman, he was just practiced at compartmentalizing. He was better able to close the lid on the sentiments he couldn’t afford to constantly experience. He had keys to his emotional doors and was able to lock them, unlike Alex, who had more of an open floor plan. Whatever Nicky used to do, it had taught him how to shut things away so he could keep carrying on.

Nicky had switched between cleaning the bloody shirt and gesturing at Alex, having to stop doing one to do the other. When he was finally done scrubbing, the shirt looked like it hadn’t ever been soiled at all.

And _then_ Alex had realized, stomach tightening: Nicky used to do something that taught him how to deal with blood, pain, and death.

 

 

 

**NOW**

Nicky’s gone again, and as usual he didn’t say goodbye or even wait for Alex to wake up. Alex pretends this doesn’t annoy the shit out of him, and predictably fails, but it’s not like he can send Nicky a text message expressing his anger. He fumes until he gets bored and then he sets off to walk to the library.

The rain has dried up by now, leaving in its wake the dust, glass, dirt, leaves, and everything else that it dragged up while it flooded the streets. The sewers, having gone for eighteen months without cleaning, spit out whatever water they can’t handle and leave stagnant puddles and ponds for mosquitos to breed in. The dirt crunches under the soles of Alex’s shoes. Above, two lone birds chirp at each other.

There’s a noise. Something moving through vegetation.

Alex stops walking, all of his senses immediately engaged, trying to ascertain the threat. To his left is a small park. The grass has grown so long that it looks almost like a prairie, and now that humans aren’t present to poison it, the weeds and flowers grow in abundance.

Some of the taller grasses shift, and—there’s a _deer_.

Alex stands so still that he barely breathes. The deer noses through the grass, head buried so deep in the thick prairie weeds that Alex can’t even see its face. Its head flicks to the side occasionally, nosing plants out of the way, and Alex can see that it doesn’t have antlers.

He thinks he can hear it breathe, listening as it smells the still-damp underbrush and roots around for food. He imagines that its body is warm, and as the sun illuminates its shiny coat, Alex watches its muscles shift.

Alex wants to pet it, wants to touch it, keep it in their house and make sure no freak ever touches it, _ever_. He can’t, and so he stays as still as he can, watching the deer until his knee cramps and he has to shift his weight a little. Dust and glass grind slightly on the pavement under his right foot.

The deer immediately jerks its head back up, ears flicking to find the source of the noise. In less than a second, it spots Alex, and for the space of half a breath, it stares straight at him. Its eyes are clear and dark and sunlight glints off its head and twitching ears. Without hesitation, the deer bounds off away from Alex, through the beams of sunlight and around the corner of a building.

Alex stays staring at where the deer last stood, the first animal he’s seen in eighteen months that’s not a rat or a bird. _I’m still alive_ , he thinks, and he belatedly realizes that his hands are shaking like Nicky’s hands shake during his fits. Alex is trembling because his body is flooded with adrenaline, not from fear but from a wave of emotion that surges up too quickly for him to control. All he can think is: _I’m still alive, I’m still real, some things survived._

He spends the rest of the day in the park where the deer was. He sits at the highest point of the tall grasses, letting the sun warm his face, remembering the glinting of the sunlight off the deer’s fur, and the gentle sound of its footsteps in the weeds.

 

 

 

**ALEX USED TO:**

Harry emailed Alex on a Thursday.

_Leigh cancelled on me at the last minute—would you be willing to take his spot at the conference? All you have to do is take notes and give him a full report when you return. There are also some other events in the area that we can enjoy._

The conference was in Las Vegas.

_Of course I will come, thank you for thinking of me_ , Alex emailed back.

He spent the rest of the week packing, unpacking, and re-packing for the conference. His raise had aged nicely over the last six months and he’d gotten himself a nicer apartment and an interior decorator that Harry’s friend Paul had recommended. The new place had windows that covered an entire wall, and Alex liked to stand in front of them at night and stare out at the glowing lights of the city, sipping vodka and loosening his tie.

He and Harry flew first-class to Vegas, on the company’s dime. In the taxi away from the airport, Alex watched as they passed the building where most of the events were taking place. “We’ll be taking a taxi to get there,” Harry said, tapping away on his phone, sunglasses pushed up on his head. “There’s no reason we have to be there at night, and the company’s paying either way.”

Alex wasn’t about to complain. The hotel Harry had apparently booked for the both of them was part of a casino, and he understood right away why Harry had told him to wear a suit for the flight; everyone at the casino was dressed to the nines, and Alex wondered if he’d wandered onto the set of a movie. There was almost too much to take in, and Harry laughed at him and said, “C’mon, let’s go to our rooms, stop gawking.”

They had to take two different elevators to get to their adjoining rooms, but once they did, Alex started gawking right away. There was a jacuzzi, a suite, a huge shower, and so much gold everywhere that he thought King Midas himself must have stayed in the room previously. Alex couldn’t even identify half the electronic shit that was only there to make his life fancy, but then he saw the windows, and walked to them on autopilot.

The city spread around him, and he pressed his hands against the glass, and wished for sunset to come. He wanted to watch the skyline be lit up with gold.

 

 

 

**NOW**

Whenever Alex thinks about going home, he hesitates, hoping to see the deer out of the corner of his eye. As a result, he doesn’t start walking until the glow of twilight is waning. _The deer isn’t going to come back tonight_ , Alex thinks, but his hope isn’t dampened. He’ll see it again. Maybe it will bring its buddies.

The walk back to the house is darker than he’d like, but he’s not about to stop in an unfamiliar house full of unfamiliar rooms with too many windows. He’d run, but that would make more noise than walking. The freaks are probably still asleep, and he doesn’t want to wake them.

As soon as he opens the door, Nicky grabs the front of his shirt, yanks him in, and steps out just enough to spray the front steps and the doorknob. He comes back in, shuts and locks the door, and shoves a towel at the base of it to block the crack. Only then does he slow down to breathe, exhaling roughly and leaning against the front door, forehead resting against the wood. His eyes are closed.

“What’s wrong?” Alex asks, and apparently it was the wrong question because Nicky jerks back and glares furiously at Alex. Alex stares back, bewildered, and follows as Nicky angrily stalks through the two doors that lead them to their little windowless study-bedroom. Each time, he shoves towels against the cracks between the doors and the floor, and Nicky carefully sprays down each doorknob.

Once they’re inside their room, though, Nicky’s furious energy doesn’t abate. He turns on the flashlight that they’ve hung from the ceiling fan and paces back and forth a couple times before stopping directly in front of Alex. He taps his wrist, points up at the ceiling, and then points downward.

Alex is bewildered. “Sun went down? I know. It’s kind of late.”

Nicky points at himself, and then at Alex, and then touches his own chest. Predictably, Alex’s stomach fills with butterflies even though he’s not sure what Nicky’s trying to tell him. “I, you, feel,” Alex says, trying to get Nicky to elaborate.

Abstract things are always harder than concrete ones, and Nicky looks frustrated. He tries to mouth something, which never works for them, and then he tries to spell it with one of his fingers in the air. His skin on his hands is grayish, and Alex feels the strange urge to warm him up, as if he’s cyanotic because he’s cold and not because he’s infected.

Nicky finally drops his hands and arms to his sides and just looks at Alex, his gaze loud enough to ring in Alex’s ears. His gray-green eyes are upset, and Alex doesn’t understand why. “What are—” Alex starts, and then Nicky just leans forward and envelops Alex in a tight hug.

It’s not like him. He’s not this demonstrative, this _open_ , but apparently Alex freaked him out so badly that he’s now a person that hugs. Alex absolutely crumbles, gripping Nicky’s torso tightly to his own, so firmly pressed together that he can feel Nicky’s heartbeat. His face is next to Nicky’s ear and he can smell Nicky’s hair from here, sweaty and earthy.

It’s just a hug, but it’s so, so good. Alex doesn’t want to break the moment, but he has to say something. “Nicky,” he murmurs, “stop worrying. I’m fine.”

Nicky’s grip doesn’t relent, and Alex can’t help but lightly kiss the skin of Nicky’s neck that’s closest to his mouth, just under his ear. “I’m fine,” he repeats, and then realizes what Nicky probably wants to hear: “I’m sorry.”

Slowly, Nicky releases Alex, and his cheeks are now dusted in that blushing grayish-purple instead of their usual pale blue. Alex wishes he hadn’t kissed Nicky’s neck, because now they’re both flushed and staring at each other, so close Nicky can probably smell Alex’s breath. Nicky has to tip his head back a tiny bit to make eye contact. _I love him_ , Alex’s brain crows unhelpfully.

Nicky’s the one that ends the staring contest by sitting down on their bed and taking off his socks. His panic seems to be gone, replaced by something that makes him glowing and shy. Alex waits for Nicky to finish changing into sleep clothes and then turns off the ceiling flashlight, disrobing in the dark and crawling into bed beside him.

He doesn’t know if he can sleep next to someone. It’s been so long. Nicky sleeps like the dead, so of course he’ll be waking up refreshed in the morning. At least there’s that. Alex stays flat on his back, staring at where the ceiling would be if he could see at all.

“I saw a deer,” he says, voice soft.

Nicky shifts on the mattress and Alex can feel warm breath on his right cheek; Nicky must be facing him now. He remembers the delicate shift of muscles under the deer’s glossy coat. The way it idly twitched its tail. “It was eating grass in a park.” It’s not enough to describe what the deer was like, how it felt when the deer looked at him. “It was beautiful,” he adds quietly. It sounds underwhelming and small. It sounds dumb.

A hand tentatively finds his arm in the darkness, and then carefully moves up Alex’s side to rest on the front of his shoulder. Nicky scoots closer and rests his forearm against Alex’s bicep, tentative, like he thinks Alex will throw him off or something stupid.

Alex realizes with a jolt that in the darkness, he’s effectively muted Nicky. Nicky can’t tell him anything if Alex can’t see, and he shifts around, trying to sit up so he can turn the flashlight back on. It must come off as rejection, though, because Nicky jerks back and scoots onto his own side of the bed.

That can’t—no, that’s not alright. “No, come back, I’m just—you need the light, right? To talk to me.” Alex gives up on the flashlight and lies back down, reaching out into the darkness and accidentally stabbing Nicky in the chin with his fingertips. “Sorry, sorry, I’m—yeah, come back.”

Nicky obediently scoots closer and resumes his previous position. The problem still hangs over Alex’s head, though, and he feels guilty until Nicky shifts again and rests a palm on Alex’s clothed chest. At that, Alex nearly swallows his tongue. This is the most he’s been touched in eighteen months, all at once, and it’s all from Nicky. A handsome man that Alex loves. Alex is sure his ears are absolutely burning red and he’s grateful for the darkness.

It gets a little worse when Nicky drags a single finger across Alex’s chest. It takes Alex a second to start following what Nicky’s doing, but it doesn’t take him long to realize that those are letters. Nicky’s spelling something out on his chest. Alex’s dick is getting hard and he fights to concentrate on the movements of Nicky’s fingertip.

_D-E-E-R_ , Alex eventually realizes, and struggles to remember what the fuck Nicky’s spelling DEER for. He shoves down the erratic urge to grab Nicky’s finger and suck it into his mouth. He clears his throat, trying not to think about rolling onto his side, yanking Nicky’s pants down, and sucking Nicky’s cock until his throat gets so sore that he’s rendered as voiceless as Nicky. He tries not to think about Nicky riding him, Nicky choking on his dick, sucking at the rim of Nicky’s asshole, coming on Nicky’s face.

What the fuck were they talking about? Oh, the deer. “Deer was pretty. Hope it comes back.” He and Nicky could fuck anywhere, really. No security cameras, no people, no obligations. He could give Nicky road head on the way to the store. _But Nicky can’t drive stick_ , Alex remembers, and fights the urge to laugh.

Alex re-focuses and tries to assess if Nicky heard him, or if he’s realized how weird Alex is acting. Nicky’s arm has gotten somehow heavier and his breathing has evened out, and Alex realizes that Nicky’s fallen asleep right there, curled around Alex’s bicep.

He exhales slowly and closes his eyes. It takes him a long time to fall asleep, but this time, he doesn’t mind.

 

 

 

**AFTER THE OUTBREAK:**

The first time Nicky had had an episode in front of Alex, Alex had (predictably) panicked.

They’d been watching an action movie featuring fast cars, extensive business plans, and an overarching message that family is the most valuable asset one has in life. It wasn’t a good movie, but Alex had seen it enough times that he could relay all of it to Nicky as they sat there in their first house, staring at the blank TV. The screen had broken at some point, so they’d been staring at shattered glass while Alex had narrated. “And then Nadia walks to other side of parking lot to meet her brother, Nikolai, for first time since—”

Nicky had interrupted by accidentally dropping the can of mixed fruit he’d been eating. The juice spilled from the can across the floor as Nicky started shaking, and Alex had jerked forward to grab Nicky’s hands. That house had had a basement too, and Nicky had looked at the basement door in panic.

“What’s happening,” Alex had barked, not meaning to be so loud. “What should I do?”

Nicky had just stared at Alex as he trembled, and then looked pointedly at the basement door again. It was easy to see what he wanted, and Alex had grabbed Nicky under one of his arms and helped him stand, walking slowly with him toward the basement door. They had stumbled there together, but as soon as Nicky got the door open, he mustered his strength and shoved Alex away long enough to get through the door and lock it behind himself.

“What the fuck!” Alex shouted, knocking at the door as if the problem was that Nicky couldn’t hear him. “Hey! Let me in!”

There had been no response.

Time had passed so incredibly slowly that time. Alex hadn’t known what to do; part of him wanted to break down the door, but the rational voice in his head told him that Nicky had locked him out for a reason. Breaking down the door would destroy his trust. Alex had sat cross-legged on the floor leaning against the wall, staring at the doorknob and not even pretending like his world wasn’t hinged on whether or not Nicky came out. He’d gotten used to having another person with him. He’d spent a week and a half with Nicky in his life, after eighteen months of being utterly alone. He didn’t want to go back to that.

The sun was still up when Nicky gingerly opened the door. He hadn’t seemed surprised to see Alex sitting there waiting, and Alex had watched the sunlight glint off Nicky’s hair. He’d seemed brighter than before, the blue veins less prominent, but that had probably been Alex’s imagination. Wishful thinking.

Instead of waiting for Alex to stand, or talking down at him, Nicky had squatted on the floor and looked at Alex with a gentle expression. He pointed at himself, and then at his blank left cheek, and at one of the blue veins on the back of his hands.

“I already know you’re infected,” Alex had murmured.

Nicky’s expression had been regretful, but he hadn’t given up. It had been hard to make their messages clear in the beginning—neither of them had any practice with this kind of communication. He held out both hands and deliberately shaken them, the way they had earlier, and then he’d pointed at the basement door. Then, he’d pointed at Alex, pointed at the basement door, and shaken his head.

“Why not?” Alex had asked, trying not to sound like a complaining child.

Again, Nicky pointed at Alex, pointed at the basement door, and shook his head. This time, he glared at Alex.

“But I’m immune.” Alex pointed at his own cheek. “You know that. What do you do down there? Why can’t I—?”

Nicky had exhaled shortly and stood up, and at that moment it had dawned on Alex that this was important for some reason—not necessarily because Alex might get infected, but because Nicky didn’t want to tell him what he did down there, or Nicky didn’t want Alex to see him during a fit, or for some reason that was too complicated to explain.

Satisfying his curiosity hadn’t been worth making Nicky look so annoyed and tired, and Alex had reached out and held out a hand. “Wait. Hey. I… okay. I won’t go. When you shake, I help you to the door, and nothing else. Okay?”

The frown on Nicky’s face had faded, replaced by something resembling surprise. Nicky had pointed at himself and then at the door to the outside. Then, he’d pointed at Alex, at the basement door, and then shaken his head.

“Even when you are not here,” Alex had said, getting to his feet. His knees had cracked, an odd reminder that despite the fact that the world had ended, his body had continued to age as if everything was normal. “I promise. Basement is just for you.”

That had been the first time Nicky hugged him. The first time Alex had been held in a year and a half, and he couldn’t stop shaking. By the time Nicky pulled away, Alex had to swallow thickly and couldn’t make eye contact. Nicky had gracefully pretended not to notice.

Since then, they had moved houses several times. Nicky bagged up all his mystery basement stuff each time and Alex never touched the suitcases. Anytime he’d felt even vaguely tempted to break his promise and go explore Nicky’s basements, he’d remembered Nicky’s firm grasp as Alex had trembled apart in his arms.

 

 

 

**NOW**

Alex wakes up with a strangely pain-free back, and it launches him into a few moments of vague confusion before he remembers: he has a mattress now. The hanging flashlight is on, and Alex remembers that he hadn’t gone to sleep alone. He turns his head and sees, to his disproportionate delight, that Nicky is still in bed with him. Even better, Nicky’s awake and looking over at him almost shyly, like he got caught staring.

“Good morning,” Alex murmurs. His morning voice is often rough as a consequence of sleeping with his mouth open, but Nicky doesn’t seem to mind the metal-on-pavement scraping sound of Alex’s words. He smiles at Alex in response, and even by the glow of the flashlight he looks beautiful.

Nicky points at Alex and then fans himself, and then freezes, seeming to realize what he just did.

“You think I’m hot?” Alex teases coyly, and Nicky’s cheeks flush gray-lavender. “Why Nicky, why didn’t you say before!”

He’s met with Nicky doing some frantic head-shaking even as he smiles hugely in embarrassment. Nicky’s pointing at Alex and gesturing at their blankets and then fanning himself again. Alex grins indulgently. “I think you’re hot too, Nicky.”

For some reason, Nicky’s embarrassed smile fades a little and his gaze drops just a bit. Before, he was looking at Alex’s eyes, and now he’s looking at… Alex’s X tattoo? Alex’s mouth? His flush hasn’t faded, and he seems to lean just a tiny bit closer.

“We’re both hot,” Alex says, blurting it out before Nicky can gracefully gesture at Alex something about being _not interested, thank you, let’s stay friends, do you want breakfast, it’s not a good time to start a relationship, are you fucking serious wanting to get laid when the world has ended, what the hell is wrong with you._ “Maybe only want one blanket now, since we’re both hot.”

Nicky’s gaze immediately returns to Alex’s eyes and he nods jerkily. He gets up quickly after that, dressing without looking back at Alex.

Breakfast is straight out of cans, and Alex thinks he’s probably starting to smell worse than usual. _Time for a sponge bath with bottled water and wet wipes_ , he thinks. “What you wanna do today?” he asks Nicky around a mouthful of Spam.

Nicky points at Alex, at himself, and then pretends to read his own palms. “To read the radio books?” Alex asks, and gets a nod in response. “I’m going to wash first, I’m gross.”

He waits for Nicky to make fun of him, but instead, Nicky merely nods and looks away. It’s a strange feeling, not having any idea what’s going on with Nicky. “Nicky, are you okay? Are you mad?”

There must be something in his tone because Nicky jerks slightly in surprise, looking at Alex incredulously and shaking his head. He reaches across the table to touch Alex’s hand briefly and then gestures at himself. His gray-green eyes flick up to meet Alex’s gaze on and off, like he’s not sure of something. Worried about something. He gestures to himself, and then presses a palm over his heart before faltering.

“You feel,” Alex prompts, watching as Nicky nervously runs a hand through his greasy hair. Maybe Nicky could stand to shower, but at this point Alex is so used to the way both of them smell that he rarely even notices being dirty. “Keep going.”

Nicky exhales shortly and shakes his head, occupying his hands with his breakfast. A wave of disappointment washes over Alex before receding just as quickly as it came. He lets the subject drop and goes back to their earlier topic. “Library, then.”

They finish breakfast in uncomfortable silence. Alex knows he’s done something wrong, but for the life of him, he can’t figure out what it was.

 

 

 

**ALEX USED TO:**

Alex ended up losing ten grand of company money at the casino. In his defense, the drinks had been free, and Harry had kept giving him more chips. Also in his defense, a petite young man named Joseph or Jerry or something had kept catching Alex’s eye whenever Alex raised his bets. Apparently, Jeffrey-Jeremiah-Whoever hadn’t really cared that Alex had lost all the money; he’d really just cared about seeing Alex throw huge amounts of chips at the table.

It was a little harder to remember how much fun he had had in Las Vegas when he was back at work on Monday morning. Harry had told him he could take the day, but Alex didn’t want to make waves. He stared a little at the figures on the page, trying to figure out how to pad an expense report so thoroughly that his losses would go unnoticed.

His email flashed a notification in the corner and his stomach dropped. It was from Harry, and once the PDF finally loaded, Alex’s breath caught in his throat. There was even more, because of course there was—Harry had been there too, and why did Alex think he was the only one that he had to cover for? And then he realized— _that’s_ why Harry had invited him in the first place, rather than picking TJ or anyone else in his department. Harry knew he could count on Alex to cover up whatever needed to be carefully wrapped in a neat package, taped up, and hidden under a tree.

For a brief second, he hated Harry for it. For a longer second, he hated himself for it. A minute passed, and he remembered: _if I don’t do it, someone else will_ , and _my new apartment looks down on this entire city_.

It wouldn’t do to have any digital evidence. He grabbed a blank piece of paper out of the printer and started writing on it in pencil.

 

 

 

**NOW**

The trip to the library is unproductive, to say the least. They both put in an effort to study, sitting at their usual table on the second floor, directly under the overcast sky.

At first, Nicky tries to keep them both focused, but it’s hard for Alex to keep his mind from wandering. The increasingly heavy knowledge that he’s not only in love with Nicky but also savagely attracted to him is distracting as hell. Ham radio is not interesting enough to keep Alex from imagining what it would be like if he and Nicky were together.

He mentally scolds himself, tries to focus, and then gets distracted by Nicky’s hands. He imagines them wrapped around his dick, and then realizes that if Nicky sucked him off instead, he’d still be able to talk to him. Nobody’s ever been able to blow him and talk to him at the same time before. Alex imagines Nicky choking on his dick and then reaching up to use his hands to scold Alex for being too greedy, while Nicky kept bobbing his head on Alex’s cock.

Nicky catches him staring and misinterprets, pulling his veiny hands back and hiding them under the table.

Alex isn’t about to confess all his feelings at once, but he can’t just permit Nicky to feel weird about his veins, of all things. “It’s not gross,” Alex says bluntly.

Nicky blinks at him and waits for some kind of clarification, so Alex barrels on ahead. “Your hands. I don’t think you’re gross.”

To answer, Nicky has to pull his hands up from under the table. He points at Alex and then carefully points at Alex’s eyes before staring down blankly at his own palms.

“I was looking, yeah, because…” Alex says, and then trails off. He can’t bring himself to admit that he was fantasizing about a hand job. He’s not ready to tell Nicky about all of the things he wants.

However, there’s no way in hell he’s going to let Nicky feel insecure about this. Alex genuinely doesn’t find Nicky to be gross, even when the both of them haven’t washed in over a week. Something about the collapse of civilization made Alex less finicky about hygiene. He hesitates, trying to gather his thoughts, and then comes up with something better than just an excuse about a sex fantasy. “Your hands aren’t gross,” he says carefully, “and I love them.”

Nicky looks at Alex with an expression of disbelieving derision.

“Your hands are how you talk to me,” Alex murmurs, and watches the look on Nicky’s face shift into something unbearably raw and tender. It’s probably love, although not the kind of love that Alex has for Nicky. “I don’t care about the blue lines.”

Nicky’s smile is like the sunrise and Alex couldn’t care less about radios. He scoots one arm over enough to hold Nicky’s hand in his own and squeezes slightly. When he glances over at Nicky, the slight frown on Nicky’s face alerts him to the reality of what he’s doing: essentially hitting “mute” on the only person in his entire world. He jerks his hand back. “Shit, sorry. Didn’t mean to make you shut up.”

Maybe that wasn’t the issue, because Nicky’s still frowning. He points at Alex, clasps his own hands together as if he’s holding hands, touches his heart, and then gives a thumbs-up.

_You held my hand because it felt good._

He points at Alex, holds a hand over his own mouth and then shakes his head.

_Not because you were shutting me up._

Alex shakes his head. “Still feels bad, because it’s like—even if it feels good, it makes you shut up. Like kissing someone to shut up.” He feels his ears redden and sits up straighter. “Not the same because, ah, with kissing, it’s both people that are shutting up, unless it’s not kissing on mouth, but—”

He’s interrupted by some voiceless wheezing and he stares at Nicky, feigning indignance. “I’m being nice and you just _laugh_ ,” he scolds. “So rude.”

Nicky’s silent chortles don’t even slow.

They get nowhere with the radio book for the entire rest of the afternoon, but Alex couldn’t give less of a shit. He’s flirting with Nicky and Nicky’s pink and silently giggling. For the entire afternoon, they’re not stuck in a post-apocalyptic hell world full of freaks that want to eat them. Nicky’s not infected with something that will take him away from Alex, and Alex has never made conversation with mannequins in order to keep himself tethered to reality.

For the entire afternoon, Alex is in the library with a cute guy. They’re supposed to be studying, but they’re flirting instead, and neither of them cares because the worst thing that can happen is a bad grade on their midterm exam. The guy is sweet and quiet but smiles a lot and Alex wants to ask him out on a date to the roller rink, and maybe things will work out and maybe they won’t, but at this second, the guy is smiling at Alex and Alex is on top of the world.

 

 

 

**AFTER THE OUTBREAK:**

Nicky had kept his distance from Alex in the early days, trying to sleep far away from Alex in other rooms and not sharing utensils. It had been polite at first, but eventually Alex’s mixture of hurt and anger had morphed into something ugly and he’d challenged Nicky on it. “Why are you afraid of me?” Alex had asked, point-blank.

Admittedly, the look of shock on Nicky’s face had been very gratifying. After so long questioning himself and wondering what he’d done wrong, Alex could finally see the same questions in Nicky’s expression. Nicky was questioning what he’d messed up; Nicky was trying to pick the right course of action. The answer turned out to be hard for Nicky to express, and he’d taken a while to finally point at himself. He’d held out his hand and run the fingernail of his opposite index finger over the biggest, darkest vein he’d had at the time.

“I know you’re infected,” Alex had said, trying not to sound petulant or impatient. He wasn’t a child. “I’m immune. You can’t hurt me.”

The look Nicky was giving him hadn’t changed, and Alex had racked his brain looking for what he could say to Nicky. Of course Nicky won’t hurt him, he’s—oh.

Alex had paused, then, faltering. The opposite hadn’t occurred to him, and he swallowed. He’d felt a little sick at the idea that Nicky had been afraid Alex might _harm_ him, and he murmured, “I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

Nicky’s gray-green eyes had been full of something unknowable and he’d looked down just long enough to start rifling through the drawer near the defunct fridge. He clearly knew what he was looking for, and shut the drawer after he’d found it. Alex saw that it was a car key for one of the cars out front that he’d assumed was a lost cause; he’d assumed the keys were gone for good.

Apparently not, though. Nicky put the key on the table and then turned away from it to pick through their pile of canned food. When he found whatever can he was looking for, he put it on the table and then looked over at Alex.

He had pointed at himself, and then touched the back of his wrist where a watch would be. Nicky then touched the blue label of the can of tuna and pointed at the white part of his own eyes. And then he’d waited, looking for Alex to show some kind of comprehension. He’d had to repeat himself a lot in the beginning as they’d clumsily figured out an entire language they could share.

Alex hadn’t needed a repetition of this particular thing, though, and he’d carefully guessed, “Sometime, the white part of your eye will turn blue.” He hadn’t mentioned that the white part of Nicky’s right eye was already rimmed with the color of the sky after the rains fell.

Nicky had nodded and held up a single finger, and simultaneously, with his other hand, a thumbs-up. Alex had hazarded, “Still stage 1, so it’s okay.”

He’d gotten a relieved nod in return and Nicky had shuffled through the pile of food before holding up a can of cherries. Alex’s heart had sunk because at that moment, he’d been able to see the demand Nicky was about to make of him. “No,” he’d snapped.

Nicky had smacked the can down on the table and pointed at the iris of his own eye. “Nicky, no,” Alex barked. Undaunted, Nicky pointed at the cherries on the front of the can, at the iris of his eyes, and then held up two fingers. “I know freaks all have same red eyes, I live here in hell, too.” Alex hoped his tone of complete refusal would get Nicky to lay off.

That had been naïve of Alex. Nicky would never give up, ever, if he felt what he was doing was right. Alex hadn’t entirely understood that at the time. Nicky’s lips were pursed and his gaze was calm and determined.

 “I won’t leave you,” Alex had snapped. “Ever.”

Nicky tapped the can of cherries, pointed at his own irises, and then nudged the key across the table, pushing it closer to Alex. Nicky had touched Alex’s chest, held up one finger, and then pointed in the direction of the front door. He held out his hands like he was driving a car. He flattened his hand and held it up against his eyebrows, as if he was staring into the distance.

_If my irises turn red, take the car. Go alone. Drive far away._

Alex had inhaled to snap something else, growl a little or call Nicky stupid, but then his eyes had caught on Nicky’s left hand, the one he wasn’t gesturing with. It had been trembling, and that had given Alex pause, and he’d realized: this was probably something Nicky had worried about since he had gotten sick. Stage 1 Nicky couldn’t stand the idea of stage 2 Nicky trying to eat Alex, and had kept the key as a secret escape plan for him. He’d been planning this, trying to make Alex as safe as possible since they met.

Nicky had probably thought that up until that moment, Alex would have reacted badly to the idea of abandoning Nicky. He had been right, too; Alex hadn’t wanted to make that promise, but watching Nicky’s left hand tremble, he’d realized that Nicky needed this from him.

The idea of abandoning Nicky was fucking terrible to Alex, too, but he had lived with some terrible ideas for a long time. It was probably just as terrible for Nicky to imagine hurting him. He swallowed thickly and then asked, “Let’s both make promises, okay?”

That had caught Nicky’s attention, and he’d focused entirely on Alex. “I promise if you get the red eyes, I will…” He’d trailed off, somehow also unable to say the words. He picked up the car key and tapped it awkwardly against the table. “But you have to promise you never going to get red eyes. You said before, you’re going to stay in stage 1. So promise me.”

They had both known that the entire premise of the promises was illogical, but Nicky had held out his hand for Alex to shake. They’d clutched their palms together for a little longer than necessary, and Alex had felt positively drunk on the mossy green of Nicky’s irises.

(After that day, Nicky had occasionally silently demanded to see the key to make sure Alex was carrying it at all times. Every time he did it, Alex briefly hated him a little tiny bit.)

 

 

 

**NOW**

Even though they got nothing done during the day, by the time they go to sleep, they’re both still in good moods, Alex thinks. He’s getting used to the warm weight of Nicky beside him in bed. Sometimes Nicky shifts around in his sleep and it wakes Alex up, but in general, sharing a bed comes easily to them. Maybe it’s because Alex already trusts Nicky with his life, or because he’s desperate for human contact. Regardless, falling asleep beside Nicky is now officially the best moment of Alex’s day.

Waking up without Nicky is decidedly the worst: it sucks ass emotionally to not have Nicky near him, and to be reminded again that Nicky doesn’t really trust him. Physically, it’s awful because during the night, Alex relies on Nicky’s body heat to stay warm. When Nicky leaves, he takes that heat with him. He doesn’t put more blankets on Alex, leading Alex to get colder and colder.

They both dread the return of winter, and they’ve had cursory discussions of moving south, but the risks are too numerous. What if other cities are still more infested? What if he has car trouble and they end up stranded with nowhere to hide? Even if they got further south, then summers would become dangerously hot.

Toughing it out the first winter had been the worst, but the second winter hadn’t been as bad. Nicky had been there. Alex isn’t delicate; he understands cold weather, but without electricity it is an entirely different season than what he was once used to.

Alex spends the day at home bathing himself, cleaning his clothes, cleaning the sheets, and trying to turn canned food into something more appealing. It all sucks without electricity, taking three times as long to do with little bottles of water that he has to conserve meticulously, and by the end of the day he’s exhausted even though he doesn’t feel like he’s actually done anything. He hangs the wet laundry and sheets up to dry on the second floor; he can’t hang them outside, because the smell of human will attract the freaks. He and Nicky can stand to sleep on a bare mattress for a night, he reasons.

Twilight creeps up at the edge of the horizon, and Alex goes through the motions without even thinking about them. He closes every curtain in the house, draws all the blinds, and locks the single window that they haven’t nailed shut yet. He’s about to lock the front door and brace it with the couch when he stops moving on autopilot and realizes Nicky’s _still_ not home. He freezes.

Nicky’s not home.

Alex creeps over to the window and peeks out between a crack in the shades. Twilight has very firmly arrived, and Alex should hurry to lock the door, shove a towel under the crack, wedge the couch against it, and then retreat to the windowless study. He should shut all the doors behind him, shove towels under the cracks, and turn off all the lights. That’s how he’s survived until now.

Maybe no freaks will sniff at the door tonight, but they have before. They’ve screamed on the other side of walls from him, knowing he’s there and furiously unable to get to him. They’ve clawed at doors and broken through windows in their haste to get to him, only foiled by traps or more doors or more furniture. Alex has lived this long through letting his imagination run wild, letting every bit of paranoia he’s ever had take center stage in his mind and help him stay alive.

Nicky’s still outside, though, and Alex hesitates.

He stands in front of the door for what feels like an eternity, waiting for Nicky to frantically knock, but there’s nothing. He slowly locks the door, shoves a towel against the crack, and drags the couch to rest against it, wedged under the knob. He moves through the house making sure every light is turned off. Nicky still isn’t back. Alex sits down on the floor opposite the front door, squinting in the dark, one sweaty hand clutching a lighter and the other grasping some hairspray.

When night truly falls, Alex stays where he is. The darkness is absolute, the overcast sky blocking out even the moonlight, and Alex is wide awake. He hears a rattling on the street and knows that’s not Nicky, knows it’s not an animal. The only animal he’s seen is a deer, and the only one Nicky’s seen is a cat. No deer or cat could make that noise, and Alex’s heart jumps into his throat when he hears glass break.  

The car alarm goes off and Alex realizes: the fucking _car_ , they hadn’t sprayed down the fucking door handles on their car. Freaks could smell them on it, and Alex prays silently that the freaks are too dumb to try to find the car owners. The car alarm attracts more freaks, and Alex can’t do anything but sit there and listen to them wail, ripping the doors apart in frustration at not finding any actual humans in it. There are some slightly louder, shriller cries, and then a loud crunch. The sound of running, and then another crunch.

Alex feels a hot tear drip down his cheek. They didn’t spray down the car. Alex had been so fucking in love and stupid with it that they hadn’t sprayed the car and now he knows that even if Nicky tried to come back, Alex couldn’t open the door. But he probably would anyway and get them both attacked, because their entire existence depends on the freaks not knowing that they’re there. The nailed-shut windows, the couch against the door—those things slow the freaks down, those things would help if the freaks found them just before dawn and ran out of time before the sun came up. They can’t help them now, at the start of the night, against all the freaks at once.

But Alex would let Nicky in no matter how stupid it would be. At the same time, he knows that Nicky would never put him in that position; Nicky would never lead the monsters to Alex’s door, wouldn’t risk his life. Nicky would be more likely to hide somewhere else, or let himself—

Alex wipes his wrist against his eyes and cheeks, still clutching the lighter in his sweaty palm. Outside, some freak howls, and there’s a sound of crunching metal. One of them walks past the living room window; Alex can hear it through the glass.

He stares into the darkness the entire night, sitting opposite the front door. Nicky doesn’t come back.


	3. Patient History

#  THREE. NICKY.

 

**NOW**

Nicky wakes up on the cold linoleum floor with a pulsing headache in the back of his head.

For a bizarre second, he thinks he’s drowning, but then a spasm rocks through him from his neck down to his knees and he gasps. The world comes into fuzzy focus, and Nicky slowly, cautiously sits up. His surgical gloves are clammy; he must have been out for a while. He braces his palms against the floor long enough to help himself stand up, and then carefully takes the gloves off. He wipes the sweat off his palms onto his dirty pant legs. His flashlight has thankfully stayed in his pocket, and he pulls it out and clicks it on.

He hears a choking noise from the corner. A ghost is there, watching him, listing slightly against the wall. Nicky assesses the ghost in a clinical manner: severe mandible dislocation, gangrene of the hands and feet, possible dysfunction of the inner ear. Estimated life expectancy: without proper nutrition, the ghost will die within a week.

Nicky turns back to the tray he’d been working at before he’d hit the floor, knowing he’s going to have to figure out what he’d done wrong. _Not now_ , he thinks tiredly. _It’s time to go home_.

Upon opening the door, though, Nicky discovers that the time to go home has come and passed. The hospital corridor’s windows are all dark. Ghosts shuffle down the hallways without sparing a glance for Nicky, because Nicky smells like one of them. He blends in, because he changes into his old scrubs when he comes here, and leaves his normal clothes hidden. His normal clothes smell like Alex.

 _Oh fuck, Alex._ Nicky’s mind goes blank in a haze of horror as he realizes that Alex is probably losing his mind right about now. They haven’t spent a full night apart since the day they met. He closes his eyes and mentally prays that Alex doesn’t do something stupid, places his faith in the idea that Alex gives up on Nicky and closes all the doors and sleeps soundly in their bed. Even as he thinks the words, he knows it’s a fool’s hope. Alex isn’t like that.

Nicky can’t go to their house now that the ghosts are awake. He turns around and shuffles back the way he came, flashlight dangling limply from his right hand. A few of the ghosts look at the light with interest, but then they see Nicky’s veins and they smell the metallic scent of infection. So far, they haven’t tried to cannibalize him, and Nicky doubts they will. Ghosts only try to eat the weakest of the other ghosts, so far, and Nicky’s not just strong but also big. Nobody dares approach him.

He’s so fucking tired. He moves down the hallway and looks for an empty consultation room. The actual beds are mostly all occupied by picked-over corpses, but the consultation rooms and their uncomfortable paper-covered tables are much less desirable. He finds one with nobody in it, dead or alive, and puts the flashlight down on the counter by the sink. The beam of light illuminates the table, and Nicky closes the door behind himself and braces a chair underneath the handle. He hits the release bar so the exam table lays flat. He turns off his flashlight and crawls onto the table, paper crinkling under his weight.

There’s some screaming a few floors away, and Nicky closes his eyes. He’s cold, and wishes Alex were at his back—not here, because Alex would be attacked immediately, what with the enticing, ripe way he smells, especially since he barely washes— but at his house. He wishes he were on the mattress on the floor with Alex, or even just sitting on the couch together listening to Alex recite an entire movie. Alex’s version of _Bridesmaids_ had been so long that Nicky had informed him that having a bachelorette party, having a wedding, and opening up a bakery was still probably faster than listening to Alex tell the story of the movie. Alex had laughed, and Nicky had smiled gleefully in response.

During the night, he wakes up whenever there’s crashing or screaming coming from somewhere in the hospital. Each time, he lays still and imagines that Alex is sleeping just behind him, not touching but solid and present. He imagines that Alex is almost close enough that he’s exhaling against Nicky’s hair, imagines that Alex is going to start snoring at any moment so Nicky really should try to sleep while it’s still quiet enough. Alex snores like a chainsaw. It’s a miracle he doesn’t attract ghosts.

The night is still long, but not as long as the nights were before Nicky met Alex.

 

 

 

**NICKY USED TO:**

“Dr. Backstrom,” said a voice, distant and then growing louder. “Dr. Backstrom.”

Nicky snapped back to where he was, escaping from reliving the shitty memories of the morning. He looked up and saw one of his colleagues, a doctor from the oncology department that he didn’t know well but seemed professional and friendly. “Sorry,” he said, smiling woodenly. “I was just distracted.”

“Do you mind if I sit? Most of the tables are taken,” Dr. Garza said, and when Nicky nodded, she sat down across from him at the cafeteria table. Her tray was laden with food that Nicky silently envied; he’d been picking at his unappetizing salad. “How long have you been here?”

Nicky looked down at his watch and shook his head. “Too long. I got here at three in the morning and then missed breakfast, and Dr. Trotz formally sent me home an hour ago.”

Dr. Garza didn’t ask why Nicky was still there, and Nicky didn’t bring it up. He didn’t want to think about the midnight argument that had led to Eli walking out. It hadn’t been much of an argument. Nothing ever was, with Eli, and maybe that was the first sign of trouble. Nicky didn’t know.

 _You put your work ahead of your personal life, and I can’t rely on you,_ Eli had said.

 _That’s because I’m a doctor, and I don’t always get to choose what to put first in my life,_ Nicky had responded.

 _I think I need someone more present, and you need someone more forgiving,_ Eli had said as he’d chastely kissed Nicky goodbye for the last time.

 _Thank you for understanding,_ Nicky had responded.

He wasn’t heartbroken but felt like he should be. He didn’t want to go home until he was sure Eli had gotten all of his things out. For a few wild moments, Nicky had wished for Eli to fight with him, to call Nicky heartless, to plead or shout or—but he hadn’t. Everything about Nicky’s relationship with Eli had been tepid, and the breakup had been no different.

“Have you read about that virus out in the Rockies? They say it’s spreading even through cold climates,” Dr. Garza said, offering him half her candy bar.

Nicky took half and smiled gratefully. “Thanks.” He took a bite, grateful for the distraction. “It’s probably a strain of the flu. Three or four months and nobody will remember it, I’m sure.”

“Let’s hope so,” Dr. Garza agreed, catching her nametag just before it dipped into her mashed potatoes. “Maybe it’ll get more anti-vaxxers to reconsider their platform.”

“Probably not. That would be too logical,” Nicky said, and Dr. Garza laughed. “I’m sure it’s nothing. If it were that bad, the CDC would have told everyone by now.”

Dr. Garza swallowed her bite of potatoes and shrugged. “I wouldn’t be so sure, but let’s hope so.”

Nicky only went home when he was sure Eli had gotten all of his stuff and left already. He got out his laptop and opened a browser to send Eli an email, something polite and maybe asking to stay friends or whatever, but instead, he opened up a new tab. _Virus Rocky Mountains_ , he typed, and hit Enter.

 

 

 

**NOW**

Nicky is rudely woken up by a ghost pawing at his exam room door. He figures he’s been sleeping long enough for it to be near daytime, and tiredly gets off the table and shuffles to the door. He realizes the issue as soon as he gets it open: dawn has broken, and the ghost is weak and looking for somewhere to sleep.

He steps out of the room and lets the ghost in, standing by the open door and watching the ghost hobble clumsily towards the exam table. In a moment of mercy, he gently pulls the door closed behind himself, keeping the sun’s rays out of the room. He makes his way down the hallway to the stairwell, breathing carefully through his mouth. The ghosts that didn’t make it through the night have a certain smell that’s worse when he breathes through his nose.

He gets to the parking lot and strips down behind the gray car where he keeps his clothes. The car has always been unlocked, and the smell of Alex on his clothes is too weak to scent outside of the trunk. He puts on his normal clothes, tosses the scrubs into the trunk, and slams the lid shut.

Nicky walks home. The dawn’s silvery fingers climb higher until it’s clearly morning, bright and fresh. Alex will be worried. Nicky’s instinct is to run, but then he’d be sweaty and have to sponge bathe. He keeps a quick pace, his new shoes crunching against the dirt and glass of the street. The walk home seems much longer than normal.

He doesn’t know why he didn’t expect it, but as soon as he turns the corner to their block, he sees Alex sitting on the front steps. Alex looks _awful_ ; his eyes are bloodshot and he’s staring straight ahead, unseeing and vacant. Nicky wishes he could call out to Alex, but now that the city is so quiet, it’s not even necessary. Alex can hear Nicky’s crunching footsteps all the way down the street.

Alex’s head jerks up and he stares at Nicky, uncomprehending. His blank stare stretches for a few seconds, but then he clumsily jumps to his feet and jogs towards him. Nicky stops walking, holding out his arms and smiling widely at Alex. Alex almost knocks him down with the force of his embrace, and Nicky grips Alex’s torso as tightly as he can.

“You fucker,” Alex breathes, and Nicky wants to coo nonsense at him. “You—fuck you, you scared me, why didn’t you come home? I love you. Motherfucker.”

There’s no way for Nicky to answer like this, both of them wrapped around each other so tightly that Nicky’s definitely going to need to clean his hair before going back to the hospital. He smells like Alex, smells uninfected. He wants to murmur something calm at Alex, reassure him somehow, but he can’t. Instead, he turns his face so that Alex can feel Nicky’s smile against his neck.

Eventually, Alex releases him just enough to look Nicky over. He’s probably worrying too much—Alex obviously didn’t sleep at all, while Nicky at least got to doze on and off. “You look tired,” Alex says, vaguely accusing. “Where were you? Did you sleep?”

Nicky tenses his lips. He doesn’t ever plan to tell Alex about the hospital. Alex releases Nicky completely and runs a hand across his face. Nicky senses an incoming temper tantrum like he can sense the rains coming in the spring. “Why you can’t tell me? What’s the secret? Why don’t you trust me?”

That’s not fair. Nicky frowns and decides not to honor Alex’s post-panic adrenaline crash as actual emotion. He walks toward their house, going in and making his way toward their bedroom. He hears Alex’s footsteps behind him, and when he sits down on the mattress and takes off his shoes, Alex does the same.

They sit there in silence for a minute, back-to-back. Alex didn’t shut the inner door, letting sunlight stream in. Nicky feels a warm hand touch his back through his shirt, and something in him crumples up until he can’t help but turn around and hold Alex again. The gesture must mean something to Alex, because he seems to thaw under Nicky’s hands. “You’re safe now,” Alex murmurs into Nicky’s greasy, tangled hair.

Alex hasn’t realized yet that Nicky’s always safe from the ghosts. Nicky’s not safe from stage 2, but he’s safe from the ghosts because he’s infected. They think he’s one of them. That’s not what matters now, though.

Nicky draws back enough to reach for his pillow, looking over at the door and then at Alex. “You want me to go, so you can sleep?” Alex asks, because he’s an absolute fucking idiot.

The look on Nicky’s face must be answer enough because Alex smiles with a kind of warmth that almost burns Nicky with its terrifying vulnerability. Nicky lays down as Alex goes through the motions of locking the house up as thoroughly as he can—it’s still morning, but neither of them slept well, and they can’t risk waking up after twilight. After it’s well and truly safe, Alex shuffles back in with a flashlight, shuts and locks their door, and shoves a towel under the crack.

Nicky flinches when Alex shines the flashlight directly into his face. “Sorry,” Alex murmurs and turns the flashlight off. Nicky hears Alex shuffling around and remembers to take off his own socks and pants. He waits patiently, and when Alex seems to settle down, Nicky reaches out and rests a hand on his ribs.

Alex is apparently on board with touching, because he immediately rolls onto his stomach and flings an arm across Nicky’s chest. “Worried about you,” Alex murmurs, voice gravelly. “Scared you not coming home.”

Nicky can’t speak, and when it’s dark, Alex can’t see what Nicky gestures. It doesn’t matter; he can answer anyway. He reaches up and holds the hand that Alex is keeping against his chest. Alex’s breath catches in his throat, probably out of surprise. Nicky strokes his thumb back and forth against Alex’s wrist.

“Don’t go again,” Alex murmurs, and he sounds like he’s seconds from drifting off. Nicky keeps holding Alex’s hand, keeps his thumb moving back and forth. He doesn’t close his eyes until he’s sure Alex is fast asleep.

 

 

 

**AFTER THE OUTBREAK:**

The first few days after the outbreak were probably the worst of Nicky’s life. He’d spent it at the hospital rushing from patient to patient. He had gone without food and sleep for so long that he’d started to feel lightheaded, and even then he’d just powered through it. The patients were all getting sicker and he hadn’t been able to do a single thing to help them.

He thought that was as bad as anything could ever get, seeing people suffer without being able to help in the slightest. And then, the first wave of patients had entered stage two.

The security guards, overwhelmed, had tried to suppress the violence, but eventually they’d been infected too, rendered useless and then dangerous. Nicky had kept working, trying to at least provide palliative care, but he’d given up on that when he couldn’t find a single person with an X on their cheek to help him. The infected were starting to attack him, and he—he just ran.

He had only pulled his respirator mask off when he was a few blocks from the hospital, wheezing and exhausted. He’d known he had to hide somewhere—the infected had followed him until he’d gotten out into the sunlight, and after that, they’d hung back in the safety of the hospital. Nicky had heard from the reports that they didn’t like daytime because their blue-rimmed red eyes couldn’t tolerate any type of light very well; apparently it was true, but the sun would go down soon.

He’d spent that first day wandering, looking for a place without windows where he could sleep through the night. He found himself in a filthy, smelly public restroom, and he locked the door. The smell was so bad he would occasionally start retching, but he stayed inside because he knew the odor would mask his own uninfected scent. He had stayed there that first night, checking himself over again and again for signs of infection. There were none, and he’d breathed a sigh of relief.

Infected people had constantly passed by the restroom starting at dusk. Midway through the night, one of them had started wordlessly screaming, and others had gradually joined in. Nicky had sat in the corner of the bathroom that was furthest from the door, clutching his knees and breathing through his respirator.

 

 

 

**NOW**

Nicky wakes to the feeling of something holding him down, and he’s terrified and confused for a few moments until he looks up and sees Alex holding his arms. Holding his arms, because Nicky’s shaking, and Nicky remembers that he went to bed in the middle of the morning and threw his body off-schedule when it came to his treatments. His entire body trembles and it feels like his blood is melting.

If it’s been too long—if he’s been shaking for too long—

He stares up at Alex, trying to communicate through the trembling, through the panic. Nicky keeps his eyes as wide as he can, staring at Alex, silently begging Alex to say it—

“Eyes still green,” Alex says, and Nicky wheezes out a huge breath of relief. He still has time. He tenses his hands, clenching his fists on and off, and Alex takes the hint, bending over more and putting his upper arms right into Nicky’s palms. They settle into a modified hug, and Alex stands, dragging Nicky back up with him. “Basement?” Alex asks, and Nicky nods jerkily.

They make their way there, and when Alex releases Nicky, it’s a struggle to stay up. He manages, though, and locks the basement door behind himself, pretending not to notice Alex’s wounded stare. Nicky grips the railing with both hands and slowly, painstakingly makes his way down the stairs.

The flashlight down here is always kept on; Nicky had hung it from the ceiling, and now that Alex foolishly risked his life to get the batteries, he can afford to keep the basement illuminated at all times, in case he needs it. He keeps the syringes and pills ready, all of them already portioned out into the amounts that keep him in stage 1. It took months to formulate a cocktail that kept the disease from progressing, and he keeps some with him. Alex, though. Alex doesn’t know about the cocktail, and Nicky intends to keep it that way for as long as he can.

Nicky sits on the floor and leans against the wall while he treats himself. The tremors in his hands make it hard to point the needle, so he takes the pills first, waits a few minutes, and picks up the syringe. That causes the last of the tremors to pass, and he stays where he is on the floor, eyes closed, waiting for the fever and lethargy to go away. Waiting to feel normal again.

 

 

 

**ALEX USED TO:**

Alex doesn’t talk much about his past life, but when he does, his face clouds over a little. Nicky has gathered, both directly from Alex and also through observation and deduction, that Alex worked at a company and did some kind of financial analysis. He was most likely in accounting or investing, neither of which sound like something Alex would actually enjoy. Nicky could ask him why on earth he chose those fields when he has such a lively, outgoing personality, but figures it doesn’t matter anymore.

Alex also used to do something wrong. Nicky hasn’t figured it out yet, but Alex’s guilt is easy to spot and it shows every time Alex talks about his old job, his old apartment. Nicky hasn’t asked about that, either; if Alex wanted to tell him about that, he would.

In general, though, Nicky doesn’t think Alex’s life before the outbreak was going very well. He knows Alex didn’t have kids or a partner, and knows Alex felt weird baggage about his job. Nicky doesn’t ask Alex a lot of questions about his old life, and eventually Alex gives up on asking him any either.

 

 

 

**NOW**

Nicky comes upstairs after the attack subsides and after he emerges from the post-dose haze of confusion and weakness. Predictably, Alex is sitting on the floor against the wall opposite the door to the basement. “You were down there extra long this time,” Alex mumbles.

It dawns on Nicky that his accidental inpatient stay at the hospital has probably sparked something insecure and fearful in Alex. Guilt overwhelms him for a moment, even though the accident wasn’t his fault—the new drug combination he’d been trying, one of dozens that he’d tested on himself trying to improve his condition, had knocked him out.

He squats down until he’s at Alex’s eye level. He points at himself, touches his heart, and holds up a thumbs-up.

“But what if you get hurt?” Alex protests. “You don’t let me come with you.” He sounds morose.

Nicky sighs because it will always come back to this. He can’t tell Alex that he goes to the hospital, because Alex will want to come with him, and Alex will get eaten. He can’t tell Alex that he goes to the hospital even if Alex promises to stay at home, because if Nicky doesn’t come back one night, Alex will mount a foolish one-man effort to save him, and get eaten.

He can’t tell Alex he goes to the hospital because then he’ll have to let Alex see the basement and his syringes and the pills. He’ll have to tell Alex that he’s a doctor, and tell Alex that he can’t find a cure. He’ll have to tell Alex that he abandoned his patients, and that he goes to the hospital to synthesize more of the serum that keeps him from stage 2. He’ll have to tell Alex that the ghosts, the _freaks_ , think Nicky is one of them, and they’re not entirely wrong.

Nicky would rather Alex yell at him, get mad at him, would rather Alex _hate_ him than let that entire house of cards come crumbling down all at once.

He forces his face into a frown, points at Alex, and holds an imaginary baby. Alex stares at him in a mixture of confusion and fury. “I’m not a baby,” he snaps, sitting up straighter.

Nicky stands up straight and holds both fists against his cheeks, wiggling them from side to side in an impression of a crying child. It’s genuinely cruel, and the shock on Alex’s face makes Nicky regret his mockery. He drops his hands to his sides and watches Alex, bracing himself for something he knows he deserves.

“You’re lying,” Alex accuses, and Nicky’s heart flutters a little. It’s a strange accusation, given that Nicky hasn’t told any lies, but they both know what Alex means. “You don’t want to tell me, so you try to make me mad.”

It’s all of a sudden too much, and Nicky squats back down, defeated. “I can read your face,” Alex murmurs, voice gentler. “You talk to me with hands and face. You think I can’t tell when you lie?”

Nicky wants to crawl into Alex’s lap, wants to rest underneath Alex’s chin until he falls back asleep. He reaches out and touches the X on Alex’s cheek with his fingertips. Alex seems like he’s not breathing, absolutely still under Nicky’s attention, and Nicky withdraws his hand and points at Alex. Points at himself, and at the anchor vein on the back of his own hand.

“I’m immune, you are infected. I know already,” Alex mutters.

Nicky drags the tips of his fingers down his own face and points outside. It’s their seldom-used gesture for ghosts. Nicky tries his best to avoid it because it calls attention to the blue veins on his own face, even though they’re not as dark or prominent as the ones on the ghosts in stages two and three. He points at Alex and bites at midair, trying to make Alex laugh. Alex does not laugh. Nicky points at himself and pointedly keeps his mouth shut.

_The ghosts will try to eat you. They don’t eat me._

“I can fight. You think I’m weak?” Alex asks, but he sounds defeated anyway, like his argument is so feeble even he can’t see it working.

Nicky rolls his eyes slightly and smiles faintly at Alex. Points at Alex, holds up one finger. Drags fingers down his face, holds up ten fingers, pulls his hands back, holds up ten fingers again, and keeps doing it until Alex snorts. “I get the point. More of them than me.”

Nicky nods, and his knees are truly starting to protest so he stands up straight, holding his hands out to Alex in a bid to placate him with physical contact. Alex seems perpetually touch-starved, and even from the beginning he hadn’t shied away from Nicky’s veiny hands and cyanotic complexion. Nicky knows Alex doesn’t find him attractive, but he appreciates that Alex at least feels no disgust for him.

Alex leans against him as soon as he stands, and Nicky hopes to change the topic. He makes a square shape with his fingers and thumbs and looks into the living room hopefully. “Okay,” Alex agrees readily, and they sit on the couch.

Alex is midway through some surprisingly dull action movie when Nicky lays down and rests his head on Alex’s thigh. They’re both staring at the blank screen, but Alex’s hand immediately finds its way into Nicky’s hair. Nicky closes his eyes, clearly intending on dozing, and Alex stutters a little. Nicky doesn’t understand why—he just told Alex that the ghosts don’t try to eat him, so falling asleep with the door open isn’t shockingly irresponsible if the one doing it is Nicky.

After clearing his throat, Alex continues the movie, voice softer. He keeps his hand in Nicky’s hair, fingertips lightly stroking Nicky’s scalp. “Then he sees her at the airport, and he knows he loves her, and can’t let her get on the plane.” Pauses. “Loves her like I love you.”

Nicky falls asleep to the low rumble of Alex’s voice.

 

 

 

**AFTER THE OUTBREAK:**

Nicky had never even considered leaving the city to try his luck somewhere new; nowhere else could possibly work out as well as here, because at least here, he knew where his hospital was. If he ever ran out of supplies there, he knew where to get more. Anywhere else would be too rural to have enough hospitals to make his medication to keep him in Stage 1, or too unfamiliar for him to navigate. The ghosts never tried to attack Nicky, not since he’d been infected, so the rewards for staying outweighed the risks.

It had been hard, though. By staying, he’d subjected himself to seeing the same evidence every day of his own failure: the patients he hadn’t cured, or even tried to cure. He’d gone back to his apartment eventually, only to find it absolutely ransacked, all the windows shattered, dried blue blood on some of the intact edges as if someone had been thrown right through the glass. His stomach had turned and he’d left that apartment and never gone back.

Those days, after he got infected but before he’d met Alex, Nicky had slept a lot. When he was asleep, he didn’t have to face his past failures, or his present uselessness.  Sometimes, he’d have dreams where there had been no outbreak, and he’d been back at his hospital, doing his job. Except unlike his real situation back then, in his dreams, he would go home to a personal life that actually made him happy.

 

 

 

**NOW**

They go golfing again, but this time, they don’t go to the store. Alex wisely doesn’t suggest it; he’s probably correctly guessed that Nicky is still upset about the last time they went, when Alex promised he wouldn’t get batteries and then fucking _got batteries_. Nicky knows it’s stupid to be angry about that; he can’t control Alex, he shouldn’t try to control Alex. Nicky does all sorts of things without telling Alex about them. Alex could go anywhere while Nicky’s gone, and Nicky would never know.

(Nicky knows he’s got no right to say what Alex should and shouldn’t do, as long as it doesn’t endanger Nicky. Their friendship isn’t entirely healthy, and would be considered obsessive if the world hadn’t ended. The thing is, Nicky’s willing to risk Alex hating him if it meant protecting Alex from the ghosts.)

Golf is weirdly exhausting when they’re constantly wading through deep prairie grass. The day is partly cloudy and a little warmer than Nicky would like, but not terrible. Nicky knows he’s probably getting sunburned, and has given up entirely on preventing the inevitable.

“I’m tired,” Alex says eventually and flops down in the grass on his back. It’s where the fourth green would be if the place weren’t overgrown like crazy. Nicky puts their clubs where the weather can’t get to them and then comes back over, new shoes squeaking slightly as he steps through the dry grass. He hesitates and then lies down next to Alex, placing himself at the same side and distance he keeps when they’re in bed together.

They watch the clouds in silence for a while. Alex comes in and out of dozing, and a couple times, he snores a little. When he opens his eyes for good, he stretches with his entire body and Nicky swallows hard, trying his best not to stare.

A bird soars across the azure sky and its wings are so wide that they block out the sun for a second. Nicky isn’t sure if it’s a hawk or an eagle. He knows that not all eagles are bald eagles, but he doesn’t know what any of the others are called. The bird is perched on an electrical pole and looking intently at the grasses of the golf course.

“Another bird looking for food,” Alex murmurs, pleased. His voice is a tiny bit hoarse from sleeping with his mouth open, as usual. “Wild animals coming back.”

Nicky doesn’t want to make Alex stop looking at the beautiful giant bird, but he wants to talk to him. He rolls onto his side and rests a hand on Alex’s sternum, carefully spelling out H-A-W-K on his chest.

He’s barely finished the word when Alex abruptly sits up, dislodging Nicky’s hand. Alex brushes the broken blades of grass off of himself and avoids eye contact. “I don’t know. Maybe eagle, not bald eagle, other kind of eagle. Falcon. I don’t know.” His body language is closed-off; he’s got his knees pulled up near his chest and rests his elbows on his thighs.

Nicky feels stupid lying down while Alex is sitting up, so he sits up too, keeping his hands in his lap. He knows he’s done something wrong again, but just like usual, he’s not sure what it was. He settles for just watching the bird as it twists its head around, looking intently for rats or mice.

“I had a friend, before, he liked to look for eagles.” Alex’s voice sounds quiet in a way that isn’t entirely about volume. “When he was young. He looked for eagles, took care of eagles when he was in school. I met him when he was grown up. We worked together.” A cooling breeze makes the grass sway in slow waves. “He was… we were friends.”

Nicky scoots forward enough for Alex to see him and then lightly touches Alex’s knee. Once he’s got Alex’s attention, he does a time-out gesture and then uses his index finger to draw a fishhook shape. He does question eyebrows.

Alex stares at him in shock. “TJ. Yeah. How do you know?”

Nicky points at Alex and presses his palms together, resting one cheek on the back of one hand. He opens and closes one hand like a beak. He hesitates and then does it again: time-out, fishhook.

_You – sleep – talk – TJ._

The shock melts away from Alex’s face as quickly as it came. He doesn’t seem very surprised to hear that he’d been talking about his coworker in his sleep, and Nicky concludes that _friend_ and _coworker_ aren’t the only things that this TJ guy was to Alex.

Nicky briefly considers asking what happened to TJ, if TJ was immune or if he got somewhere safe, anything like that, but he keeps his hands still. No matter what happened to TJ, the look on Alex's face is enough to say that no answer will really be a good answer. Even if TJ got to safety, that doesn't help Alex now. The most likely answer is that Alex doesn't know what happened to TJ, because most people don't know what happened to the people they loved. The breakdown was too fast for that.

In movies, when these things happen, there are “MISSING" posters plastering every surface, memorials everywhere, flowers, candles. There hadn't been time for any of that, not in the world Nicky and Alex lived in.

“I don't know where he...” Alex starts, and then stops. It's unlike him. He's a lot of things, but he's rarely hesitant or tentative. He does everything with conviction, speaks without pausing. “I saw his Jeep, not him. When outbreak happened, we weren't working together anymore. I didn't see him. I don't know. Cell phone towers went down.”

They both watch as the hawk or eagle absolutely dives at the grass, rooting around in the prairie for a while before flying back up to its perch, something clutched in its beak.

Nicky can't make any of it better, but he can at least help Alex focus on something other than the worst period of time in both of their lives. He touches Alex's knee lightly to get his attention and then points at Alex, does time-out fishhook, and points at the golf clubs. He does question eyebrows.

Alex's face brightens, and Nicky feels oddly triumphant about getting Alex to cheer up a little. “Sometimes. We drink, we golf, we do karaoke.” Alex looks back over at the bird, and he's spacing out a little but at least he doesn't look sad anymore. “TJ is— was always— is always happy to do whatever. If I say museum, he's happy at museum, takes selfies with dinosaurs. If I say swimming at the lake, he shows up with a cooler of beer. If I say we should work late, he shows up with take-out and highlighters.”

When he goes quiet, Nicky taps his knee and waves one hand in a circle at the wrist: _keep going_.

"He was so fun, you know?” Nicky doesn't know, but Alex doesn't really wait for confirmation. “Weird guy, but funny. One year, for Halloween, he dressed up as a dog, and I thought it was funny. Then he dressed up as dog for next four years, every Halloween. Always a dog.” Alex is genuinely smiling now, and the wind flicks his graying, greasy hair across his forehead. “But not because he's lazy, because it's not the same dog every time. Different dog. Why does he have so many dog outfits?”

Nicky listens intently, just watching Alex's face as Alex keeps talking. The look in Alex's eyes when he talks about TJ is familiar, gentle, and Nicky would call it love except he knows that's just how Alex looks. After all, he has that expression on his face all the time when he looks at Nicky.

 

 

 

**NICKY USED TO:**

“I’m cutting you,” Dr. Trotz said, flipping a manila folder shut and leaning back in his chair. “Go home. Get some sleep. Hell, watch a movie.”

“I’m fine,” Nicky responded, not even bothering to paste on a wooden smile. “I’ve got a lot of—”

“Don’t try that,” Trotz interrupted briskly. “I passed off two of your cases to Green and another one to Carlson. The rest are waiting on tests. You can afford to go home and sleep.”

Nicky knew he was beaten. He slumped a little back in his chair. “I don’t have a lot going on right now,” he admitted.

“And normally I like that about you, but you’re about an hour of work away from becoming a liability instead of a benefit.” Trotz’s tone wasn’t cruel or patronizing, merely matter-of-fact. “Go buy some bread and feed the ducks.”

There wasn’t anything Nicky could really say to argue with that; Trotz was his supervisor and was, most likely, correct. Nicky hauled himself out of the chair and headed toward the hallway that led to the locker room, so he could change out of his scrubs. On his way there, he slowed down and looked out at the courtyard garden that the hospital foundation maintained for patients that were able to go outside. A woman sat on a bench with papers clutched in her hands, staring forward but not really seeing. A squirrel ran down a tree. Nearby, an old man with an oxygen tank watched the fish in the koi pond.

Nicky followed Trotz’s suggestion; after changing his clothes, he drove to the grocery store and then to the river to feed the ducks some bread. The sun was smothered by clouds, and the air that breezed across Nicky’s face was cool and damp. He thought about the suffering people at the hospital that he should be taking care of, he thought about how it was selfish to be taking time off when he had the education and skill to help people—and he thought about getting in his car and taking off onto the interstate and never going to the hospital again.

He shook himself a little and got up, getting back in his car and leaving the lake. _This is why I hate taking time off_ , he told himself, _it makes me think stupid and pointless things_. He briefly debated taking a left turn and going to see Eli, maybe for coffee and an attempt at friendship, but ended up just driving straight.

Eli was the kind of guy that would listen to Nicky’s first world problems and nod sympathetically over coffee. Nicky wanted the kind of man that would take off onto the interstate with him, driving too fast and laughing as Nicky stuck his hand out the passenger window to feel the wind.

 

 

 

**NOW**

Alex and Nicky go to the library together on a bright day. The walk is peaceful, with beams of sunlight shining down from between buildings and landing on the road in front of them. It smells like it might rain, but until then, they can bask in the sun.

"So in your normal life, before the outbreak. What kind of guy is your type?" Alex asks.

He’s probably hoping that Nicky will answer this one, since it’s not a concrete fact or a yes or no question. Nicky tends to not want to talk about things, and Alex seems to interpret that as a lack of trust rather than Nicky not wanting to talk about his career-driven stagnant pre-outbreak life.

Now, his life is shittier than ever, but Nicky will silently admit, if only to himself, that he’s more motivated and active than he ever was before. He can answer this for Alex. He remembers his previous relationships and how all of them failed. He kept trying to date men that were like him, and in the end they were too like him to make it work. He had liked their company enough, but never enough to miss them when they were gone. He didn’t love them, no matter how long the relationships had lasted.

 _Isn’t that disconcerting_ , he thinks. _I’ve loved Alex for months now_.

Nicky swallows and tries to imagine what a relationship that worked would have been like. He slows to a stop, Alex following his lead and turning to face Nicky like it’s just an instinct. Alex always does that—shifts his center of gravity so he’s always facing Nicky. Nicky has to concentrate on the dark X on Alex’s cheek to keep himself from getting completely sidetracked. He reaches up, flexes his own bicep, and touches the muscle. “Strong,” Alex says, and Nicky nods before touching his heart. He repeats the bicep touch, and Alex focuses carefully. “Strong emotionally. Passionate.”

Nicky nods emphatically and then thinks for a moment, trying to figure out how to gesture what he wants. He hates writing in English and doesn’t want to force Alex to carry around a dictionary and in the end, playing endless rounds of charades has brought them together better than scraps of paper ever would. There are some times, though, when Nicky wishes he could just... speak. But whatever. He points at his wrist and then taps his foot, fidgeting. “Impatient,” Alex says, and Nicky nods and then shakes his finger side to side. “You like patient guys,” Alex guesses, and Nicky smiles.

It occurs to Nicky in his head, thunderously loudly, that Alex is demonstrating literally everything Nicky’s saying, right at the moment Nicky’s saying it. Maybe Nicky’s just saying it because it’s all the stuff that Alex does that Nicky loves him for.

Nicky wildly casts around for something that’s important to him that Alex doesn’t do, to seem less like he’s making a pass at the only person he knows in the entire world, but there’s nothing. Alex has flaws but if the flaws were gone, Alex would be just as boring as Eli, as the others. Nicky points at the side of his head, gesturing at his brain. “Smart guys,” Alex says, but his voice sounds off. Less happy and more edgy, and Nicky starts to try to gesture something else, anything to make this situation less heinously awkward, but Alex says, “Guys like me?” before Nicky can do anything.

 _What’s worse_ , Nicky thinks: _lying or telling the truth_. He evades the question clumsily by continuing walking towards the library, but Alex catches up with him easily. “Guys like me?” Alex repeats.

Nicky reluctantly nods, glancing over at Alex for signs of horror or discomfort. Instead, Alex smiles at him, tentative and seemingly surprised. “I like guys like you, too, Nicky,” Alex says, and Nicky rolls his eyes, prompting Alex to protest, “No, really!”

Nicky points at Alex, shapes one hand into a circle and jams the first two fingers of the opposite hand into the circle, and then rests his fingertips at his hairline and then brings them down lightly across his face. With that, he faces Alex and raises his eyebrows in question.

_You fuck ghosts?_

The look that comes over Alex’s face is ugly and terrible, and while he doesn’t tell Nicky to go to hell, he sure looks like he wants to. Nicky faces forward and continues toward the library, the sunlight no longer seeming comforting. The idea of fucking a ghost is horrifying to Alex, as it should be. The ghost would eat him afterward.

They don’t talk for the rest of the walk. Once they get to the library, they’re able to start making stilted conversation about the radios. Nicky is grateful to be able to point to words instead of having to figure out how to charade words like _wavelength_ and _Hertz_.

It does make him feel good, though, thinking that before he was infected, before the outbreak, someone like Alex might have been interested in someone like him.

 

 

 

**AFTER THE OUTBREAK:**

The hospital had gone around and tested all personnel, tattooing dark Xs on the cheeks of those lucky employees whose results came back as _Immune Type 1_ or _Immune Type 2_. Nicky’s result had come back as _No Immunity Detected_ , and he’d known at that moment that he’d eventually get the virus.

Nicky had worn his respirator until it was ragged and falling apart, at which point he finally gave up on it and dropped it in a trash can. He’d sat down on a bridge above a river, letting his legs dangle off, thinking about the odds of finding another respirator that would be efficient enough to shield him from the pathogen without making him unable to breathe. The only respirators he knew of were in the hospital. The hospital full of infected patients and infected air.

 _So it’s going to happen now, then_ , he’d thought while sitting on the bridge.

He’d gripped the rail above his head and screamed wordlessly across the river, the loudest noise he could possibly make, because it was broad daylight and none of the infected were out to hear him.

He’d yelled that day on the bridge until he went hoarse. Then, he’d gotten up and walked to the library. He had to find a way to stall the disease, and he’d known he’d had limited time to do it.

 

 

 

**NOW**

Nicky wakes up before Alex and leaves their bed as quietly as he can, making sure Alex is still fast asleep when he leaves. He locks everything behind himself and exhales a little when he’s finally clear of the house. _Sneaking out, how mature_ , he thinks to himself, and trudges into the street.

The dawn has only just broken. Months ago, the infected would still be in the streets, trying to find places to hibernate for the day. These days, they’re mostly dead, and Nicky walks to the hospital with only the birds as company. It smells like rain.

There’s a ghost outside the room where Nicky usually tries to combine his drugs. He takes a while to synthesize more of the serum that he uses to keep the virus from progressing on its journey through his brain and body; the pills are already prepared, but the serum only lasts a week or so without refrigeration. Nicky has to use a lighter and a spoon, and it takes forever to sterilize everything.

The day passes slowly. The process is familiar and Nicky wishes he had music, anything to muffle the scattered sounds of the ghosts shuffling around the hospital, looking for food. Nicky’s mind inevitably keeps going to Alex, thinking about what Alex said. He wonders what it would be like, being boyfriends with Alex; what would it be like to be on a plane with him, play cards with him, or go on a date with him. Small things, normal things. Things that are forever forbidden to Nicky and Alex here in their present world. Maybe Alex likes road trips. Maybe they’d go to art museums together.

The ghost propped up against the wall by the door is dying. Nicky knows what death is; most of the news hosts, during the apocalypse, called the ghosts ‘dead’ or ‘zombies’ but that wasn’t entirely accurate. They were infected with a virus, but they weren’t literally dead. Their hearts still beat. Nicky used to try to tell people that it was more like rabies—a viral disease that can change everything that used to exist about a person, but not literally killing them until they were actually dead. Nobody had really listened, and now, Nicky understands why.

The ghost against the wall is wheezing. Once upon a time, the ghost was a young man, Nicky guesses. Maybe he used to be heavier, because his clothes now hang loosely, and he probably was here for a broken arm because the tattered remains of a cast cling to his elbow and bicep. His mandible has rotted and partially fallen off, and his eyes have rolled back in his head. He’s in pain and he’s dying.

Nicky knows that the ghost would eat Alex if given a chance, has absolutely eaten many healthy people and infected ghosts in order to stay alive this long. Nicky knows he should conserve medical supplies for himself and Alex, because while Alex is immune, he still might get injured somehow. Nicky watches the ghost struggle for a few more breaths, and then turns and gets up, going to the storage closet and picking up a couple of things. He pushes the syringe into the bottle and draws up the plunger, looking at the ghost the entire time.

Once the entire bottle is empty and the syringe is full, Nicky kneels down and rests a hand against the side of the ghost’s jaw. The ghost doesn’t seem to notice, struggling through another breath, and Nicky gently presses the needle into the ghost’s neck. He struggles against Nicky for less than a second and then goes limp as Nicky depresses the plunger, emptying the syringe. He took an oath as a doctor to do no harm, and now—now it feels like leaving the ghost alive would have been harm. Not when he has the power to end that suffering.

Nicky stands up and goes back to the table and gathers up what he’s already prepared, putting it in his bag. He moves slowly, feeling like the entire world is weighing him down.

He changes clothes, makes his way home, and tries to leave it all at the hospital. He used to be able to do that, back when he worked there full-time; he’d been able to leave most of it inside the hospital, except for the shit he carried around with him forever. The failures, the broken promises. The priorities he’d had to shuffle, the people he’d let down.

Apparently, some shit would never change; he’s still letting people down and can’t leave it at the hospital. As he turns onto his block he sees Alex sitting on the steps again looking like someone’s let him down. The only person in Alex’s life is Nicky, and he knows that betrayed expression is his fault. It’s only midday, and Alex has no reason to be shitting himself again, but there he is. He stares at Nicky accusingly, and Nicky’s just too tired, he doesn’t want to do this.

“You said you wouldn’t just leave again,” Alex accuses, standing up and looming over Nicky. He’s standing on the front steps while Nicky stands on the sidewalk, so Nicky has to crane his head up a little.

Nicky points at himself and then shakes his finger side to side. He most certainly said no such thing.

“I asked you not to,” Alex says, and Nicky shrugs. It’s clearly the wrong gesture because Alex’s frown deepens. “What am I supposed to do?” he demands. “What if you get hurt? What do I do?”

Nicky points at Alex and then points at the door to the house.

“I’ll stay home if you tell me to.” Alex sways a little to the side, and Nicky wonders how much Alex has eaten. Likely not much, and his blood sugar is probably dragging him through hell.

They’re both suffering, and Nicky finally just… can’t do it anymore. He takes the couple of steps up to press against Alex, holding him in a hug that’s such a relief that even Alex seems to calm down when he touches Nicky. The hug just keeps lasting and lasting, and Nicky feels himself start trembling. He lets Alex take more of his weight and remembers the dying ghost in the hospital—the only thing separating that ghost from Nicky was the years Nicky spent in medical school.

At least, that’s how it used to be. Now, Nicky knows that the only reason he’s still kept on is wrapped around him, supporting his weight. Without Alex, Nicky isn’t sure he’d have made it. And now, by trying to protect Alex, he might be driving him away.

“Nicky, we have to get to basement,” Alex is saying, voice pinched with concern. He’s trying to pull away, to get a look at Nicky’s eyes to check that the irises haven’t turned red.

Nicky shakes his head and grips tighter. It’s not rational in the slightest, but he can’t let go of Alex, because Alex might not hold him again. “Nicky,” Alex protests, and this time he’s almost in a panic.

Nicky relents and leans back, letting Alex see. He’s not shaking from one of his fits, from the disease; he’s crying. Silently, other than a gasp or two. “Oh,” Alex says, and to Nicky’s surprise, Alex’s worries don’t go away. “Oh, oh no. Why are you crying?”

There isn’t really even a good answer. _Frustration_ would sum it up, but so would _I mercy killed a dying ghost_ or _I’m infected_ or _I want you_. Instead of trying to get through it, Nicky takes one of Alex’s hands and pulls him gently up the stairs, gratified when Alex follows without complaint. He locks the door behind them, puts the towel down, and Alex follows his lead.

They lock up the house even though it’s just midday, and Nicky should feel bad that they’re not getting a lot done with the radio book but he can’t bring himself to truly care. He and Alex lock themselves up in their bedroom study and Alex turns on the ceiling flashlight while Nicky settles down on the couch, staring at the TV.

“What kind of movie do you want?” Alex asks, sitting down with his side fully pressed against Nicky. He smells like he hasn’t washed in days. Nicky wants to nuzzle his neck. Instead, he reaches out and holds his hands far apart.

Alex watches and agrees. “Long movie! Okay. Let me think. _Dr. Zhivago_?”

Nicky frowns and shakes his head. He hasn’t seen that one before and Alex has never told the story. It’s been a rough day, and Nicky wants a rerun. “ _Titanic,”_ Alex proposes, and Nicky immediately nods. Alex hasn’t told him that one before, but Nicky at least remembers the basic plot from when he saw it years ago.

“Okay,” Alex starts, and they look expectantly at the TV. “So, we start with Kate. I mean, Rose. She has red hair, nice body, pretty face. Oh no, wait. Movie starts with some guy in a submarine underwater, looking at the Titanic, and it’s now. Well, it’s the 1990s. Oh my God, _Titanic_ is 20 years old? What the hell?”

Alex settles into the familiar rhythm of telling Nicky a movie. He’s gotten better at it as the months have passed; he no longer skips around and spoils endings just to make moments more dramatic. He’s also gotten more descriptive; it’s like in the beginning, he was worried Nicky would be too impatient and quit listening, but now he’s realized that Nicky is just as bored as he is and is happy to listen to Alex describe a ship for half an hour.

He’s also more descriptive with sex scenes. “Rose and Jack are in the car, having sex. The car is filled with steam from them breathing, and Jack finds Rose’s G-spot, and her hand comes up and smacks the window, you can see just her hand, and—”

Nicky senses an opportunity. He reaches out and touches Alex’s arm just long enough to get his attention. He mouths _G-spot?_ at Alex, moving his eyebrows like he’s confused.

“Oh, uh,” Alex says, and he’s not _nearly_ flustered enough for Nicky’s liking. “G-spot, it’s like… a bean.”

Nicky keeps frowning and mouths _bean?_ He sits up slightly and points at himself before gesturing vaguely at his own body: _where is it on me?_

That seems to do the trick. Alex’s forehead is starting to crease in thinly veiled concern. “No, it’s… you don’t have it. It’s in vagina, you don’t have it.”

Nicky can’t suppress a smile and lets his entire face light up like he’s realizing something. He holds his arms up as if he’s cradling a baby. He points at his invisible baby and mouths, _bean._

Alex looks absolutely stunned, every bit of his face creased into abject dismay. Nicky is positively gleeful and settles back down, dropping his imaginary baby and gesturing for Alex to keep telling the movie. For his part, Alex stumbles a little before recovering, skipping over the remaining sex scenes in the movie.

(Before they go to sleep later that night, they’re lying in bed and Alex asks, “Were you… a priest, or something?”

Nicky reaches out in the dark and spells out _No_ on Alex’s chest. Alex’s breath hitches for some unknown reason, and Nicky doesn’t bother figuring it out. He goes to sleep with his arm still flung across Alex’s ribs, and he’s never been happier that Alex doesn’t know that he’s been a medical doctor for the last five years.)

 

 

 

**AFTER THE OUTBREAK:**

Nicky had gone to the same gas station every few days for food, hampered by the weight of bottled water. He stole a shopping cart from the nearby department store and that helped, but he had a fear of being out at nightfall when the infected came out to try to find food—to try to find humans like Nicky, uninfected beings, or even animals like the squirrels that used to roam around the city. As a result of his fear, Nicky took things in small batches, spraying down his shopping cart with bleach whenever he finished with it, keeping his human scent off of it.

He’d been too afraid to go into houses at first, knowing that most of the infected lingered there in the dark. Instead, he’d stayed in hotels, because at least all the doors there locked automatically. He carried knives with him. The first time he had to use one, it was because an infected person had lunged at him, foaming at the mouth, everything that was human drained out of the person’s red and blue eyes.

Nicky had cried in a hotel bathroom until his head had ached. But he’d lived.

When he had come out of the bathroom and looked at the corpse of the infected person that had tried to bite his arm, he’d stood very still for a few minutes. As a doctor, he’d seen dead people many times, but this was… different. Nicky had picked up a comforter from the bed and put it on top of the body. “I’m sorry,” he’d murmured, as if the corpse could hear him.

He’d switched hotel rooms that night and slept in a bathtub, listening to the wailing of the infected outside the hotel and pulling his arms closer to himself. He’d known then that he had probably already contracted the illness—the pathogen was airborne. He was on borrowed time.

 _I’m like them now_ , he’d thought the next day when he’d left the bathroom and come face-to-face with the giant mirror in the hotel room across from the bathroom door. He’d had blue veins running across his hands and forehead. He’d struggled to find his voice, croaking out, “My name is Dr. Backstrom,” at his reflection before his throat had entirely quit on him. It had not come back since.

 

 

 

**NOW**

Nicky puts his foot down about going to the library. Alex seems content to do whatever Nicky wants to do, as long as Nicky doesn’t leave his line of sight. Fortunately, Nicky has enough of the serum and pills to stay safe for at least a week. Until then, he doesn’t have to leave Alex’s side.

Alex spends the entire walk to the library talking about birds he’s seen recently. As the ghosts weaken die, the wildlife returns. Nicky still thinks about that cat every day. He hopes the cat has been eating birds and rats and getting big and strong. He hopes the cat knows how to hide well.

“I don’t know name for it in English, but it’s blue,” Alex is saying. “I need a bird expert.”

Nicky holds up his hands like he’s reading a book and then presses his fingertips together at an angle. Then, he improvises and holds the heels of his palms together before flapping them lightly. Finally, he holds up his hands like he’s reading a book again.

_At the library, get a bird book._

“Yes!” Alex says, and then squints at Nicky mock-suspiciously. “Wait. Are you making fun of me?”

Nicky breaks into a helpless smile and shakes his head.

“I used to be interesting,” Alex protests, “I wasn’t bird-watching! I was… doing fun things. I wasn’t boring.”

In response, Nicky shakes his head and points at himself. Then he points at his eyes, and then flaps the fingers of his hands as he holds the heels of his palms together.

For his part, Alex seems surprised. “Really? You did?”

Nicky nods and then holds an imaginary bag of bread with one arm and scatters invisible slices of bread with his opposite hand. “And you fed them,” Alex says, and instead of the mocking tone Nicky had anticipated, Alex sounds like he’s half a breath away from _cooing_. “That’s so cute, Nicky.”

Amused, Nicky rolls his eyes at Alex. He points at himself and then rests his head against his closed palms, eyes closing briefly.

_I’m boring._

“No, you’re cute,” Alex says. He’s been doing this a lot lately, being outwardly complimentary and affectionate. Nicky wonders how lonely Alex is that he’d resort to flirting with someone he’s not even attracted to, and usually concludes that Alex has a flirtatious nature and does this with everyone. He probably didn’t at first because he didn’t know if Nicky would freak out at another man hitting on him.

Maybe Alex is just crushingly lonely. Nicky thinks about sex sometimes—or, really, more often than sometimes, depending on what Alex feels like wearing—and he’d offer it to Alex if he thought Alex would want it. They could keep the flashlight off, and both of them could forget that civilization has collapsed and Nicky’s infected and they’re not an actual couple. Alex could imagine that Nicky’s someone else; it’s not like Nicky would talk dirty or moan wrong and ruin the illusion.

He hasn’t offered, though, mostly because he’s pretty sure Alex will be hurt or offended somehow and Nicky won’t be able to explain himself as fast as he wants. The more horrible part of Nicky’s psyche insists that _Alex will never want you even with the lights off, you’re infected, you’re a ghost_. 

Something must pass over his face while he’s thinking that because Alex rests a hand low on his back. “Hey. You okay? You want to rest?”

Nicky shakes his head and then nods, and realizes that all he’s going to do is confuse himself and Alex. Instead, he reaches around and removes Alex’s hand from his back. Alex stiffens at that but Nicky quickly slides his fingers down Alex’s wrist and laces their fingers together until they’re very firmly holding hands.

“Oh,” Alex blurts, and smiles so widely his eyes crinkle up. Nicky smiles back and tightens his grip, palm sweaty.

They get more of the radio book done that day than they had on all the other days _combined_.

 

 

 

**ALEX USED TO:**

Alex talks in his sleep occasionally, and Nicky would think it would be in Russian but it’s in English. He’s lived here for a long time, apparently. It’s not usually interesting stuff, especially without context. Mumbled nonsense about numbers or plans or people Nicky’s never met. Nicky listens anyway. Sleep isn’t easy to come by, but lying in the dark listening to Alex’s sleepy grumbling is relaxing.

It’s especially soothing now that Nicky can reach out and rest his hand on Alex’s heart, feeling the vibrations that spread from his voice box down to his chest. He can put his face against the back of Alex’s neck or shoulder or head, and smell the layers of sweat and grime that coat them both. He wonders if they’re all just nonsense dreams of melting clocks or people with apples for faces. He wonders if Alex ever has nightmares. He wonders if Alex’s dreams are better than the reality that greets him when he opens his eyes.

(Nicky doubts that last one, though. When Alex wakes up in the mornings, he twitches a little, opens his eyes and looks around blearily. When he and Nicky make eye contact, Alex always breaks into a smile so big it leaves crinkles around his eyes. In those moments, Nicky’s heart beats double-time.)

Alex never actually mentions his dreams. Nicky doesn’t pry into Alex’s past, and doesn’t ask Alex too much about what he used to do. It wouldn’t really change anything, unless Alex was secretly adept at flying helicopters or building radios. As it is, all Alex mumbles about in his sleep is stuff about spreadsheets, TJ, public transit schedules, and random swear words.

Then, one night, Alex murmurs, “No, come back, Nicky. I’m immune,” and Nicky’s heart stutters in his chest. Alex has stopped dreaming about his life before the outbreak and started dreaming of his life now, the one they share together. Nicky tries not to let it get to his head, tries not to let it fill him with hope. Tries and fails.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote a post [here](https://cornfieldsposts.tumblr.com/post/176103043365/hi-i-have-been-really-into-red-iris-so-far-i) about the sources of inspiration and information for this fic!


	4. Lyssavirus 2

#  FOUR. NICKY.

**NOW**

The next day, Nicky wants to go to the library and Alex wants to get groceries. They split up after eating a breakfast of stale cereal with canned cherries and water. Alex leaves first, and Nicky carefully locks up the house behind himself when he eventually leaves too. He sprays down the steps and walks toward the library, thinking about when he’d woken up that morning.

He’d woken before Alex, as usual, but then made himself go back to sleep. He’d finally woken up again and Alex had been stretching to pull the towel out from under the door. Once he’d finished, he’d settled down again, and Nicky had been able to see by the light coming in through the crack above the floor, even though the flashlight was still off. Nicky had spelled out " _Good Morning_ " on Alex’s chest, and Alex had pulled away quickly and disappeared into the bathroom before Nicky could so much as blink or wave hello. “ _Good Morning_ ” was probably too complicated to spell, Nicky supposed. Maybe he’d accidentally spelled out an insult.

The walk is quiet without Alex, and Nicky stills immediately when he hears a soft noise in the bush to his right. The previously well-groomed plants have all gone wild in the absence of regular trimmings provided by the city, and the shrubbery is so big now that it’s overtaking the sidewalk. Nicky stares into the plant like it will explain why it’s rustling, because he knows it’s not a ghost— they don’t come out during the day, and they’re too big to hide in the shrubbery anyway.

He kneels down and finally sees it— the cat he’d seen before. It’s gotten fatter, and when Nicky lunges, the cat can’t move away fast enough. He wraps his arms around its squirming body and tries to wrestle it into submission as it claws at his sleeves. It yowls a little, and Nicky wishes he could murmur soothingly at it.

It takes a while for the cat to calm down, and Nicky just sits on the sidewalk, ignoring the glass that he’s definitely sitting on. His jeans are thick, and he doesn’t care. The cat is warm and alive in his arms, but if he was fast enough to catch it, then the ghosts are definitely fast enough to eat it. Nicky can’t let that happen. He swallows thickly as he feels its heartbeat under his left palm.

But he doesn’t know why it’s _so slow, how’d it get fat_. He waits for the cat to quiet down and accept its fate before he shifts his right hand enough to palpate its sides. _Oh_ , he thinks, and cradles her to his chest.

She can’t stay out here. That much is obvious, and Nicky keeps her in his lap while he carefully takes off his shirt. Her claws are jammed into the fabric of the sleeves and Nicky figures wrapping her in the shirt will keep him safe from scratches. He leaves her head poking out and very carefully stands, running an index finger from side to side behind her ear. It’s meant to be a comforting gesture, and he can’t tell if she’s into it or not, but she’s stopped actively struggling. Nicky carries her home, staying quiet and moving smoothly. She wriggles a couple times, but otherwise lays still.

He takes her directly to the basement when he gets home. He doesn’t know how much noise she’s going to make, and at least in the basement she’ll have plenty of space to roam around and no windows that the ghosts can see her through. He puts her down in a corner and she immediately skitters under a table to hide. She stays silent under there, and Nicky realizes that she’s probably learned to be quiet so the ghosts don’t hear her. He goes back upstairs and lets her be, closing the door gently behind himself and going to sit on the front steps.

He realizes that the tables have turned— he’s now the one impatiently waiting for Alex’s return, but it doesn’t bother him. He smiles stupidly to himself occasionally, thinking about the cat. He comes up with a short list of potential names and then forgets them all when he sees Alex meandering down the street carrying two armloads of groceries. Nicky wonders why Alex didn’t take the car and then stops caring, hurriedly standing up and running to help Alex with the groceries so he can tell him about the cat sooner.

Alex’s expression lights up when he sees Nicky waiting for him, and Nicky tries not to let that look of raw, obvious joy go to his head. “You’re so excited!” Alex says, his entire face blooming. “What happened?”

Nicky tries to grab one of the bags of groceries to help and Alex steps back, not letting him. “No, I can carry it. You talk,” Alex says, and Nicky realizes that helping Alex would have rendered himself effectively mute. Alex always realizes those things before Nicky, always thinking about how to make sure Nicky can communicate. He’s so considerate. Nicky loves him, and should probably tell him so, but not now.

Nicky holds an imaginary cat and strokes it. “You saw the cat again,” Alex says, and they shuffle awkwardly back to the front door, Alex encumbered by groceries and Nicky trying to come up with gestures as he makes them. Nicky nods, and then points at the house. He holds the imaginary cat again, but tighter.

“You catch the cat?” Alex asks, and his face lights up again when Nicky beams at him. “Nicky! You did so good! You’re so fast!”

Nicky shakes his head a little at that one and opens the door for Alex when they get there. They both fall immediately into routines: Nicky blocking off the bottom of the door, Alex putting away groceries, both of them closing the blinds even though it’s barely afternoon. Force of habit is hard to break.

Eventually, Nick goes to the kitchen and holds up the invisible cat again. He waits for Alex to nod and focus, and then shifts his top arm around to the bottom as if he’s holding a baby. “I thought you said it was cat, not baby,” Alex says.

Nicky nods. Holds the cat, rests both his hands on his lower stomach, and then holds the invisible baby. Alex looks a little disturbed for a moment and asks, “Cat inside human baby?” before his face clears and he laughs. “Cat is pregnant with cat babies! Kittens.”

Nicky nods emphatically and Alex beams at him. “How do you know? Were you a... an animal doctor?”

In response, Nicky shakes his head and reaches out to touch Alex’s stomach, gently palpating his sides. Alex is quiet for a little too long and when he speaks, his voice is a bit rigid. “You touched, felt the kittens.”

 Nicky nods and looks up to make eye contact and swallows tightly. Alex is staring at him and he looks almost... confused, somehow, and Nicky worries that Alex is going to guess that he’s a doctor, and then—but no, Alex is reaching forward and running his fingers through Nicky’s greasy hair. The gesture is so unexpected and affectionate that Nicky closes his eyes for a few seconds.

Eventually, Alex seems to come back to himself and asks, “So where is she?” Nicky hastily removes his hands from Alex’s abdomen and points at the basement door. “Can I go down and see?”

It’s then that Nicky realizes the fatal flaw of his plan to keep the cat in the basement until after she gives birth: of _course_ Alex wants to see her. Nicky wants Alex to see her. He shakes his head but to make sure Alex doesn’t feel hurt, he holds up his arm for inspection, letting Alex see the claw marks on his skin that got through the shirt. He holds up the imaginary cat again and then taps his own chest in a rapid heartbeat rhythm.

“She was scared,” Alex interprets, and Nicky nods. “She used claws.”

Nicky nods, and holds up a single finger. He taps his wrist and points out a window at the sun, swiping his finger down to mimic the sun’s descent. He presses his palms together and rests the side of his face on the back of a hand, and then gestures at the horizon again, drawing the sunrise with a finger. Then he points at the basement door and gives a thumbs-up.

_Let her be alone for today and tonight, and tomorrow morning, we’ll go see her._

That should give Nicky enough time to hide the medical crap he’s got strewn everywhere. Alex nods, seemingly placated, and then gives Nicky a bear hug. Nicky melts into it and they stay that way for a few minutes, until Nicky can’t shake the stupid thought out of his mind that he loves Alex, loves him, _loves_ him. _And now we have a house and a cat, and we’ll have kittens,_ his traitorous mind thinks.

They spend the rest of the day together, working through the radio book. Alex keeps reaching out and resting his arm on the back of Nicky’s chair. It’s something that lovers would do, and Nicky finally leans back out of curiosity. Alex rests his hand flat against Nicky’s back, thumb stroking side to side, back and forth.

 

 

 

**AFTER THE OUTBREAK:**

Nicky had realized, after a day and a half of being visibly infected, that the cocktail he had planned would require supplies directly from a hospital. Somehow, he’d distantly known this, but never quite thought about how it would finally work out. He had run out of time, though, and he finally had had to face it. He’d examined his hands and watched in disgust as the dark blue veins began creeping across his skin, bearing a sharp contrast to the rest of his flesh that had faded to a grayish white. He looked ill _._

 _I look ill and I_ am _ill_ , he’d reminded himself. He tried the words out in his head a few times. _I am infected. I am ill. I have LV2._ It felt almost like he was trying the words, tasting them, testing them. It hadn’t seemed real, back at the very beginning.

He walked up to the hospital and watched the windows for signs of life. Of course, there were none, and he’d shaken his head and moved forward.

All of his research had indicated that the infected relied on their sense of smell to differentiate between the uninfected and the ones that had already been exposed. The virus was an airborne pathogen and could infect people without even touching a host. Those that got infected were rarely eaten by fellow infected people, but Nicky had a suspicion that that would change; as fresh uninfected food ran out, the infected may be more opportunistic and less fussy. The immune were entirely gone, either having already been eaten or having fled through using power or connections or wealth to escape somewhere as soon as the outbreak loomed on the horizon.

Nicky had noticed several things about the virus: it was seemingly not transmissible to animals, it created a strong intolerance of sunlight, and it seemed to dull all sense of pain. He’d kept these aspects in mind when synthesizing serum. He wished he could talk to an immunologist, or even a manufacturer of perfumes; he couldn’t speak anymore, but he would be able to write, if he just had them in a room with him.

He’d walked into the hospital that first day after infection with the sincere expectation of an attack. He’d known in his head that as he was infected, those left in the hospital would likely not hurt him. In his heart, he’d wanted nothing more than to avoid the hospital altogether. He hadn’t even enjoyed it before the outbreak; now, it was a smelly, broken building full of death, corpses, and the infected.

He’d exhaled before pushing open the front door, mindful of the broken glass on and around it. He’d let it fall shut behind him and stood in the emergency room lobby, waiting for the infected to come get him.

They hadn’t. He’d made his way further into the hospital, heading for the familiar areas. The infected were there, once he got away from the windows and bright areas; the darkness of the exam rooms was more to their liking. Nicky thought of them as patients, but they weren’t, not any more than he was really a doctor. _Nobody is anything anymore_ , Nicky had thought.

The way they moved had changed from the first days. Nicky had broken into a storage closet and pilfered supplies, then climbed behind the counter at the pharmacy and taken even more. He’d carried it all upstairs to a room with a window; stage 1 of the infection didn’t cause photosensitivity. He’d spent the day holed up in that room, carefully synthesizing serum and injecting it in himself for the first time.

He’d taken the pills after the serum, in the beginning. That had been a bad call. He’d hit the floor after taking his shot and laid there in burning pain for twelve minutes, according to the clock on the wall. After that, exhaustion had set in that was so intense that he couldn’t do anything but fall asleep.

Nicky had woken up in darkness and he’d fumbled through the drawers looking for a pen light. He found one and slowly picked his way through the hospital, trying to get out. He wanted out of this place, he wanted to go back to his hotel room, wanted to sleep somewhere free of the infected even though he was infected himself.

The pen light’s beam occasionally fell upon some patients, and they moved differently than they had before Nicky had first fled the hospital after the outbreak. They were slow, starved, and didn’t react to the glare of the light, even when Nicky pointed it right at their red eyes. He’d watched them and they hadn’t watched back. One of them gnawed unseeingly on her own arm and the word popped into Nicky’s head, unbidden: _ghost_.

 _That’s what they are_ , he’d thought, _ghosts._ Their hearts may still beat, unlike ghosts, but other than that there wasn’t a difference. They weren’t the people they used to be. They were ghosts compared to who they’d once been, no social structure, no empathy, no wants or desires. They had eaten everyone and once everyone is gone, they’d probably start eating each other.

Ghosts. They’d already died, but something in them hadn’t understood that yet. Nicky had tried very hard not to think about what it felt like when they’d moved into stage 2. He’d squeezed his hand a little tighter around his bottle of pills and his bag of syringes.

 

 

 

**NOW**

Alex tells the story of a movie that seems to have talking animals. He’s been in a joyous mood all day, not even complaining when Nicky pushed them to finish four chapters in the radio book instead of the usual three. Soon, Nicky will be ready to start investigating where to get all the radio components. The only place he can think of off the top of his head is RadioShack, and that wasn’t even helpful _before_ the apocalypse. He brings the radio book home this time, and along with it, an English to English dictionary, English to Russian, and English to Swedish. _For radio terms_ , he tells himself, although he knows it’s not the entire truth.

Instead of thinking too hard, he just basks in the story of the talking animals. “So they go to house," Alex is saying, “and the mom and dad and kids are so happy to see them. They thought the pets were lost forever. The end.”

Nicky claps his hands together in very quiet applause. Alex smiles happily at him. “What color is the cat?”

He’s been asking about the cat nonstop. Nicky hesitates and then touches the fabric of his own pants. “Black," Alex says, and Nicky nods and then points at part of the floral print couch they’re sitting on. “White. Black and white!"

Nicky nods and then nearly swallows his tongue as Alex reaches out to grab Nicky’s foot. Without warning, Alex starts giving him a foot massage that melts Nicky’s spine. He tries not to choke on his own saliva and realizes he’s stopped breathing but Alex is talking as if nothing’s going on. “I have four or five names I like, but it’s up to you. You caught her.”

 _Why is this making me—why am I—_ Nicky can’t even think. Alex is just rubbing his feet, digging his thumbs in occasionally. Nicky has to shift one of his legs and bring it closer to his thigh, and then just gives up and pulls the couch blanket onto his lap. Something long dormant in the back of his mind has come roaring to life, except instead of roaring it’s probably keening. Nicky is so, so hard under the blanket and for once he’s grateful that he’s mute because if he could vocalize, he’d be moaning.

Alex is still fucking _talking_. “I took care of puppies once, when I was a little kid, but I don’t know much about kittens. We can get a book from the library.”

Nicky nods mindlessly in agreement. Thankfully, Alex is genuinely focused on whatever he’s babbling about because he doesn’t notice Nicky’s eyes rolling backwards at a particularly well-aimed press. It’s dumbfounding. _I don’t even have a foot fetish_ , Nicky thinks desperately to himself, as if he can reason his way out of this.

“I can’t wait to see her,” Alex is saying, and Nicky’s brain quickly chimes in that Alex cannot go downstairs. Cannot. Nicky’s face must have drained of bliss because Alex sighs slightly. “I know, not going down until you say.”

He keeps rubbing at Nicky’s foot silently and Nicky has a bizarre urge to wipe that gloomy look off Alex’s face by kissing him, biting at his lower lip, and shoving him backwards. He’d wrap his legs around Alex’s hips until Alex got the hint and gripped Nicky around the waist and tossed him backwards onto the mattress on the floor. He’d yank off Nicky’s clothes, and then—then, Alex would then remember that Nicky’s turning into a ghost.

The fantasy stops abruptly. Alex has seen him naked before, but not like that, and as soon as it’s in a sexual context rather than a utilitarian one, it’s likely Alex would pull back. Nicky’s body shows the same signs of infection that his face does. Alex would make some kind of apology or excuse to spare Nicky’s feelings, but they wouldn’t be able to look at each other in the eyes for a week after.

That thought gets Nicky’s hard-on to go away faster than it ever has.

He can’t let Alex just sit there looking unhappy, though, so he reaches forward and rests a hand on Alex’s shoulder. Alex looks up, and Nicky gently pulls his foot away and gets up to retrieve the English-Swedish dictionary he’d stolen to work on the radio. He doesn’t really need a dictionary for this, but it would take too long to find a pen and a piece of paper. Alex watches him curiously as Nicky sits down beside him, flicking through the book. He doesn’t rush Nicky, doesn’t hurry him or fidget.

When Nicky finally finds the page he wants, he swallows and tries to keep calm. In his head, he knows that Alex already knows what he’s about to tell him, but that doesn’t make it any easier. It had been less scary to inform Alex that he’s gay, but Alex had already come out as bisexual. Then again, Alex has already told Nicky the thing Nicky’s struggling with. Emotions are so easy for Alex.

Nicky touches his own sternum, then points at the entry for “ _Love_.” Then, he points at Alex with his free hand, and freezes, searching Alex’s face for recognition.

Absurdly, Alex seems absolutely unsurprised, almost disappointed. “I know you love me,” he says, and a tiny bit of his voice sounds… forlorn? That’s not right. “You have for a long time.”

Nicky slams the book shut and turns away, and Alex sits up straighter and holds out his hands in a placating gesture. “No, I’m happy to hear, don’t be mad! I love you, Nicky. I know you love me. I just, I was thinking you were going to say what you do in the basement. Where you go when you disappear. You don’t tell me, and you keep secrets.”

 _Because I love you_ , Nicky wants to snap. He takes a deep breath to calm himself and then flicks through the book again, touching “ _Love_ ” once more. Then he struggles silently for a moment, trying to come up with a gesture that makes sense. He shapes the thumb and forefinger of one hand into an L and presses it to his heart. With his other hand, he taps the word “ _Love_ ,” and then looks at Alex.

Of course Alex is following along. He mimics the gesture Nicky’s doing and says out loud, “Love. This means love, big L on the heart.”

Nicky nods, and then flips through the book again. He stops this time on “ _Protect_ ,” and points at it. He thinks for a minute and then puts both hands flat on his chest, one over the other, realizing a little too late that it looks like a traditional coffin pose. Regardless, Alex immediately echoes the gesture and says out loud, “Protect.”

Nicky nods and then gestures to himself. He steps closer and reaches out and touches Alex’s shoulder and waves a hand at their bed. He touches his own sternum and points at the front door. He points at the basement, squeezes Alex’s arm, and then shakes his head. He gestures to himself, holds up both hands flat against his chest, and then points at Alex.

_I go while you’re sleeping. I don’t let you into the basement. I protect you._

“You protect me from you?” Alex asks, and once again, Nicky’s astonished at his tone. He sounds so tender, and Nicky has to look away from his face, which is lined with affection. “Nicky. That’s stupid. If you want to eat me, you already do it. Protect me from what else?”

Nicky reaches up and touches his hairline, letting his fingertips drag down his face. “Freaks, okay, but—oh.” Alex sits up. “There’s freaks in the house?”

Nicky shakes his head wildly and goes back to making eye contact with Alex. Then he points outside, and touches his hairline and drags his fingertips down again. “There’s freaks outside. I know. I live here too, Nicky.” He pauses, and Nicky can almost see the comprehension dawning on his face. “You go where the freaks are. What do you do there, Nicky?”

And that is a question Nicky wants to never answer, not ever, but Alex is a fiery man with a big heart and a big brain and a big ass and a big dick and—Nicky cuts off that line of thought before it’s too late. He hunches slightly and hopes Alex will drop it.

Of course he won’t drop it. That’s not in Alex’s nature. “You can tell me, baby.” Nicky swallows his tongue, but Alex doesn’t even seem aware that he uttered the endearment. “You go to… to what? To get things? Supplies?”

Nicky nods, and Alex takes a moment to think. He shifts around on the couch, tucking his chilly toes underneath Nicky’s warm thigh. “Why don’t they eat you?”

They’re so close to crossing the line that they can never uncross that Nicky wonders if he’d left that line in the dirt months ago. Maybe what he’s been protecting Alex from is the only thing keeping Alex from being actually happy, or fully trusting him. Nicky points at himself, touches his nose, and then swipes his fingertips down across his face.

“You smell like them.” Alex asks, but it’s not really a question. “So I can’t just cover my X and draw blue on me. If I want to go with you, I have to smell like you.”

There’s no way that anything Nicky does to Alex could entirely cover up the immune scent with an infected one, but Nicky’s brain goes a little haywire trying to imagine it anyway. He keeps his face calm and nods, then points at his nose and holds his arm up, flexing his bicep.

“Scent is too strong,” Alex concludes, and Nicky nods, trying to get himself to focus. He wants to touch himself, but Alex is right there, and this might become a problem.

There’s a pause and Alex suddenly asks, “So why can’t I go in the basement? No freaks, just you. What’s the problem?”

Nicky doesn’t have a good answer, and pretends it’s because he’s coming up with gestures. He doesn’t particularly want Alex to see him using syringes on himself or taking copious amounts of pills, but the real issue is the fact that once Alex sees all that, Nicky will have to explain that he’s a doctor. _Maybe Alex will let me get away with saying I’m a drug addict_ , he thinks wildly, but no. Random street drugs wouldn’t halt the progression of the virus. Nicky is a doctor, he’s got years of experience, he went to medical school, and he still can’t— he can’t come up with a way to save himself. To save everyone else.

He’d left the hospital. Left his patients, left everything. There might have been something he could have done. Maybe if he’d taken the pandemic more seriously when news started coming out, he could have come up with the inhibitor he uses now. If he hadn’t dismissed it as people overreacting to the flu, if he’d watched the news, if he’d taken it seriously— but he hadn’t, and then once it had gotten dangerous, he’d fled the hospital like a coward. The shame burns low in his gut, destroying any trace of arousal that was once there.

He decides to admit to the smaller of the crimes, hoping that will appease Alex for the time being. He swallows and then points to himself, holds out his hands and makes them tremble, touches his heart, and then hesitates. For lack of a better gesture, he puts both palms flat on his face and bows his head, hunching slightly. After a moment, he drops his hands to his lap and tentatively looks up at Alex.

“You… you’re ashamed of when you shake?” Alex guesses.

Nicky nods and waits, watching Alex’s face. He expects Alex to comfort him, to explain that he’d never judge Nicky, but that reassurance doesn’t come. “You’re lying. Again,” Alex says, and this time, he doesn’t sound angry. He just sounds… sad, which is much worse.

Somehow it’s worse that Alex is disappointed in him than if Alex were genuinely angry. Maybe Nicky should feel pleased that Alex can read him so well, but instead, he just feels like shit.

Alex seems to wait for Nicky to come clean, to explain further, but Nicky doesn’t. Instead, he gets up, leaving Alex’s toes to cool back down. He makes sure the cat has food, water, and a comfortable place to sleep. She’s beautiful and still terrified of Nicky but at least here, she’s safe from the ghosts.

Nicky and Alex don’t really talk again for the rest of the day. When it’s time for bed, Nicky’s worried that Alex will try to sleep on the couch, but fortunately, Alex flops right in beside him just like usual. In the dark, Nicky reaches out and tentatively rests a hand on Alex’s chest. Alex immediately puts his hand on top of Nicky’s, thumb rubbing affectionately from side to side, and Nicky can finally relax and close his eyes.

 

 

 

**NICKY USED TO:**

“Dr. Backstrom,” Dr. Trotz said, holding out a file as soon as Nicky closed the office door behind himself. “The outbreak is spreading. I talked with the rest of your department about it already, but you weren’t at the hospital, so we’re going to do it now.”

Nicky stiffened and protested, “You were the one that ordered me to go—”

“Oh, for—” Dr. Trotz said, and shook his head. “You’re not in trouble, Dr. Backstrom. Please have a seat.”

Nicky sat and accepted the file, flipping through the pages. “You said it’s spreading?”

Dr. Trotz twirled his laptop around to show Nicky some kind of map of the United States. “All the pink areas are where it’s been detected, all the red areas are where it’s really got traction. We’re working on setting up a big enough area in the hospital for all the patients we’re expecting, but we can’t just use overflow because it has to be sterile.”

Nicky nodded, eyeing the pink area around Washington D.C. uncomfortably. “Right, so they can’t infect the other patients.”

“It’s airborne,” Dr. Trotz confirmed and turned his laptop back around. He gestured back at the file. “But that’s got a consent at the back. Hospital staff has to be tested for immunity, so we know what we’re dealing with. There are a couple types of immunity, and the file gets into that. Your test is tomorrow, and we’ll have the results by the following day. Just go to phlebotomy when you get to work to start your shift.”

“What about staff that aren’t immune?” Nicky asked, flicking through the papers. He wasn’t concerned about possibly being one of them; he was young and healthy. He worried about some of the older staff, though, and their absence would be a devastating hit. They had decades of experience, and Nicky felt sometimes like he’d literally crumble without the support of the nurses. “Are they going to be sent home?”

Dr. Trotz shook his head. “For the meantime, we’re trying to cordon off an area for the virus patients, and the staff without immunity would be isolated to a different part of the hospital.”

Nicky closed the file and then looks up at Dr. Trotz. The look on Dr. Trotz’s face made him feel cold, like a ghost had just passed through the room. “This is an outbreak,” Nicky murmured quietly.

“It is,” Dr. Trotz confirmed gravely, and then made eye contact. “This is going to be in history books. This isn’t the flu. This... will change the world.” His tone was weighty.

Nicky looked back down at the file and took a minute to flick through the pages. He paused and looked back up at Dr. Trotz to ask, “What is the virus’s name?”

“It’s caused by a lyssavirus, the full name is in the file, but the media’s been calling it Zombie Virus, or Z-Virus.” He looked exasperated and frowned at Nicky. “I know you’re too smart and too stand-up to ever call it that stupid fucking name, but if anyone else that works here calls it that, you tell them to call it LV2. It’s not the best name but people recognize it and it’s short.”

“LV2?” Nicky asked.

Dr. Trotz clicked around on his laptop and turned it around to face Nicky again. “The other unofficial name for it is LV2, meaning Lyssavirus 2.” A Times article was open on the computer screen, titled, “ _LV2: What Is It?_ ”

Nicky blinked. “But there are lots of Lyssaviruses.”

“Yeah. We know that, but as far as most people are concerned, rabies is number one, and this is number two.” Dr. Trotz turned the computer back around and closed the article. “At least this name isn’t based on horror movies. Z-Virus? For fuck’s sake,” he muttered, seemingly to himself.

Nicky wondered how long it’d been since Dr. Trotz got to go home and get a full night of sleep, but wisely refrained from asking. Instead, he asked, “What happens to the people that are immune? The staff?”

“They get dark Xs tattooed on their left cheeks. The ink is some kind of special deal. Law enforcement have special orange lights that make the ink glow, to expose any fakes.” Dr. Trotz poked around on the computer for a second and then turned it. Nicky stared; the Xs were large and cover the entire left cheek. It would be excruciatingly painful to remove the X, and that’s just if it were normal ink—the ink law enforcement would probably either leave scars upon removal or not even be removable at all. The recipient’s face was going to be changed permanently, in no small way.

“Face tattoos. That seems—” Nicky started, about to say _extreme_ , given that it’s a fucking tattoo on people’s faces and it will be painful as hell to remove after the disease has faded. Then, he remembered the map of the spread of the contagion. “Appropriate,” he finished. “It’s an epidemic.”

“Nope. Not an epidemic. It’s a pandemic.” Dr. Trotz turned his computer around and looked blankly at the screen for a minute. They both let the quiet drag for a few minutes, digesting the horror of that word, _pandemic_. Finally, Dr. Trotz said, “You can go, but Nicklas… good luck on your immunity test.”

Dr. Trotz _never_ said his first name, and Nicky’s blood ran cold. He got up and started walking towards the door before pausing. “I’ll try my best,” he joked dryly, but neither of them laughed.

 

**NOW**

Nicky wakes up before Alex, drowsy and confused. Something had to have woken him up, and he realizes it in seconds: Alex is grinding his hard dick into Nicky’s ass, both of them fully clothed but Alex not seeming to really care. Alex’s arm is wrapped tightly around Nicky, holding him still for more efficient grinding, and Nicky gently taps Alex’s hand.

Alex doesn’t respond, and Nicky knows for sure Alex is still sleeping, because he’d never ignore Nicky, ever. Nicky closes his eyes and enjoys the uninhibited way Alex is moving, enjoys the way Alex is snuffling against the back of his neck, enjoys the sweaty clutch of Alex’s hand against his chest. He enjoys it for a few moments, but knows it would be too perverse to let Alex keep going, so he grabs Alex’s hand and squeezes firmly.

The result is a moan, and then the sound of shifting. Alex’s body falls away from Nicky’s back and after a good fifteen seconds of shifting around and waking up, Alex whispers hoarsely, “Oh, shit. Sorry.” Alex reaches up and turns on their flashlight, and Nicky sees that Alex looks genuinely horrified at himself. “Sorry, Nicky, I was sleeping, I didn’t mean to.”

Nicky’s stomach drops a little. Of course Alex didn’t mean to. Nobody wants to fuck ghosts, but people can’t really control their dreams, and Alex’s body thought Nicky was someone else. Alex truly looks mortified, and Nicky doesn’t know what to say to make any of this less horrible, so he falls back on the story he’d invented earlier. He points at Alex’s (weirdly, still hard) dick and shapes his eyebrows like he’s asking a question. Then, he rolls partially over onto his side and points at his own ass, repeating the confusion eyebrows, and then looking to Alex for an explanation.

If anything, Alex looks far more horrified, but at least this time Nicky is entertained by it rather than devastated. He keeps the smile off his face only by pursing his lips tightly. Alex hedges awkwardly, “It’s because… I was having a dream, and, uh, you know.”

Nicky shakes his head, indicating that he absolutely doesn’t know.

Alex seems to be truly suffering and Nicky hasn’t felt so entertained since— well, since he can remember. No TV or movie was ever this good. “We’re in bed, and, uh, you. You have a smell, and I know your smell when I’m awake. And, uh. When I’m asleep. I think. Sorry, didn’t mean to.”

Maybe he should drop it, but this is too fun. Nicky touches his nose and then points at Alex’s tented pants. _What does my smell have to do with your hard dick_ , he’s trying to say.

Alex misinterprets and fully turns red. “No, I mean, I’m not— don’t smell my dick, I— no, I just smell you, and get hard, and you have great ass. Butt. Uh. Push against, feels so good, um, it’s been long time since— were you a monk? You said not priest, but monk? Hermit?”

Nicky ignores the second bit and also tries desperately to ignore the fireworks that go off in his head when Alex talks about pushing against Nicky’s ass and how it _feels so good_. Instead, he rolls onto his stomach and twists around to look at his own butt and then looks back up at Alex. _Nice?_ he mouths, giving a thumbs-up in addition in case Alex can’t lip-read it.

Alex makes a vague choking noise and yanks the towel out from under the door. “Oh thank God. Light out. I have to, uh, bathroom,” Alex blurts as he throws the door open and disappears down the hall, feet making thudding noises as he goes. Nicky rolls onto his back and grins stupidly up at the ceiling, feeling like he’s glowing from the inside out.

 

 

**AFTER THE OUTBREAK:**

There were times when Nicky wasn’t sure he was going to make it. They were followed by times when Nicky wasn’t sure if he _wanted_ to make it. There were a couple months spent doing the exact same thing, again and again, just to keep up some kind of routine, as if he were a normal person living a normal life.

When he’d seen the mannequin suddenly appear at the gas station, it had shaken him to the core. He’d cried, because everything in him knew that it wasn’t something one of the infected would do; the ghosts don’t crave companionship and socialization. Nicky had wiped away his tears and smiled shakily at the mannequin.

For the next few days, he lived in the gas station. He had read books outside during the day in case someone came walking up, and he slept in the bathroom, although there had been little to no point in putting a locked door between him and the ghosts; they didn’t attack him. They’re loud as hell, though, and Nicky had not been sure if it’s stage 2 or stage 3 where the larynx suddenly switches from being atrophied and nonfunctional to becoming something that emits just nonstop hellish wailing.

Nicky had stopped really caring about that, because all he could think about was that there was a human still alive here. _An uninfected person_ , he angrily corrects himself. They’re all humans, but some of them are infected. Dr. Trotz would be so disappointed if he heard Nicky think like that.

He had spent his time reading, but also staring into space and thinking about what the person is like. They’d probably be very fit, to have survived this long. Lonely, most likely travelling unaccompanied, although probably not by choice. Emotionally strong, physically strong, and affectionate enough to physically move a mannequin to a store to pretend to interact with someone. A person capable of tremendous love.

Nicky’s sweaty hands had clutched the edge of his book. _Please, please, let this person survive long enough for us to meet. Please let this person not kill me on sight._

 

 

 

**NOW**

Nicky plans to go to the hospital the next day, but this time, he forces himself to wait until Alex is awake.

After breakfast, he points at himself and then at the front door. He holds his hand out flat, palm facing Alex, and then points at Alex, at himself, and shakes his head.

"I won’t follow you," Alex agrees, a little too quickly for Nicky to believe him. His doubt must show on his face because Alex holds his hands up almost defensively. “You know, I haven’t gone into basement. Even though we have a cat now. When you say, ‘don’t do it,’ I don’t do it. You’re scary, I do what you say.” He grins at the last bit.

Nicky frowns and drags his fingers down his face from his hairline.

"No, not because you’re infected," Alex says, rolling his eyes. “It’s your personality. I like it, but I think if I betray you once, you’d say we’re not friends anymore.”

It’s... not too far off from the truth, and Nicky purses his lips. Alex laughs at him. “See?”

Nicky nods and gets his stuff together. He’ll walk to the hospital; he could hotwire a car with an automatic transmission but by the time he got done with that he’d be tired anyway. He stands up and hoists his messenger bag up onto his shoulder and looks at Alex. He’s blindsided by the sudden urge to give Alex a soft kiss, a gentle goodbye, and that would be terrible because Nicky just brushed his teeth with baking soda and Alex is still eating directly out of a can of mushrooms, but Nicky has to do something because now he’s stood very still in front of Alex for too long.

Alex is watching him curiously, and Nicky wonders if his emotions are written on his face. He reaches out and cups Alex’s cheek, the one without the X on it, and swipes his thumb lightly across the soft skin under Alex’s eye. Alex is holding absolutely still, body stiff, with his gaze focused directly at Nicky’s eyes. Nicky holds up his other hand and faces his palm toward Alex, waving it once to the side as a gentle goodbye.

Instead of answering verbally, Alex cups Nicky’s hand against his cheek and repeats the goodbye wave. It always twists something in Nicky’s stomach when Alex chooses to use their gestures instead of just talking— it’s not a big deal, but his heart seems to register it as Alex learning a third language just for Nicky, just for them. They stare at each other for another moment and Nicky wonders if he should declare love again, fingers of his free hand going all the way into an L shape before Alex lets go of Nicky’s captured hand. Nicky jolts back to awareness and pulls his hands to himself, using his messenger bag as an excuse to fidget with his hands and awkwardly bolts out of the house.

The walk is fast. For some reason, Nicky feels like he’s been electrified and he’s full of energy. He keeps up the power walking pace all the way to the hospital and when he gets there, he almost heads to his normal lab on autopilot. It takes him a second to remember that he’s not here for that today. Instead, he turns towards the supply cabinet, raids it, and then goes to the room with the best shower.

He can’t shower, obviously. It’s a waste of water, and also, the plumbing is shot, but the gallons of water from the supply cabinet will do. He strips down and steps into the tub, trying not to make more contact with it than he has to; it’ll drain but it’s just as gross as everything else that’s been ignored for a year and a half. He drags the shampoo and conditioner out of his bag and proceeds to wash himself more thoroughly than he has since the world ended.

Afterward, he dresses in the clean clothes he’d taken from the house and stands in front of the mirror. He forces himself to actually look at his reflection, easing himself into it by first looking at his shirt in the mirror and then dragging his eyes up, past his veiny neck and onto his jaw.

His beard grows in patches, kind of haggard and unkempt, and Alex has never seen him without it. Nicky doesn’t like it; it itches, it’s too hot, it feels weird against his pillow when he’s trying to sleep. He doesn’t like to look at himself, so he cuts the beard using scissors, without a mirror. He knows it’s jagged just from touching it. The beard might interfere with his plans for Alex, so with very painstaking use of water, shaving cream and a razor, he removes it.

It takes a while. He hears screaming from somewhere else in the hospital, and he hates moments like this because his brain is asking him: _why now, why are you cleaning up so thoroughly right now, is it for Alex, Alex doesn’t mind how you look, Alex’s opinions shouldn’t matter_ , and right back to _why are you trying so hard for no reason_.

He finishes and cleans off his face, turning up again to look in the mirror and realizes with a sinking feeling that the veins are now more obvious without the beard to cover them. The beard was never thick but at least it hid some of the veins, and it’s too late now. He stays calm and rationalizes that they can just keep the light off.

Nicky stares at his face for another horrible moment and forces himself to move on, going through the drawers of the room before he finds scissors. He goes back to the mirror and trims his hair, keeping it shaggy but slightly shorter, and then carefully combs it out. He curses internally at his own idiocy; he’d been wearing the brand new (stolen) clean clothes while doing the haircut so now he has to brush himself off. _I graduated from medical school_ , he thinks mockingly at himself.

After all the bits of hair have fallen to the floor, he looks back at the mirror and swallows at what he sees. He looks about eight years younger than he had when he was covered with the beard and with dirt all over him and grease in his hair. He looks... his age, and despite the vein lines creeping in at his eyeballs, the edges of his face, his mouth, and everywhere else, he looks more like the person he remembers himself as. It’s like strength rolls back into his muscles after being vacant for a year, because now Nicky looks like the person he envisions himself to be. He’s never been the most handsome man in the room or the most charismatic or the most anything, really, but he’d always been himself, and now he looks like that person.

He packs up his things and finds his way back into the hallway. No ghosts loiter here, as the big picture windows let in all the light that the ghosts want to avoid. He holds up his fingers, measuring the distance between the sun and the horizon, and determines he’s really only been here for a few hours. He could work on synthesizing more serum, but he’s only going to be this clean for a little while.

Nicky starts the walk home only to be sidelined by a shaking fit halfway through. He sits on a bench and dry-swallows the four pills. He waits for the shaking to subside and then prepares the syringe. Alex might not even be home. Nicky feels stupid and foolish and knows he should be working on the radio book, but it’s too late now.

By the time he’s stopped shaking, he’s sweated entirely through his shirt. _So much for cleanliness_ , he thinks in irritation and yanks it off. He drops it carelessly on the ground and looks around for somewhere to get another shirt or a sweater or something.

The only nearby shop is a tourist trap that seems to exclusively sell products with Washington, D.C. buildings or logos printed on them, but Nicky doesn’t care. He browses through the racks, trying to figure out what colors Alex likes and then silently scolding himself for caring about what colors Alex likes.

There’s a growl in the corner, and Nicky snaps to attention. A starved-looking ghost is hanging out near the cash register, one hand gripping the counter and the other waving in midair, as if the ghost is trying to use it for balance. The ghost’s eyes fix on Nicky and Nicky knows that this is a challenge, knows that cannibalism is common among ghosts during these times and that if Nicky looks weak enough, he’ll be attacked and eaten.

He can’t scream back, can’t even whisper, but he’s not weak. He grabs the edge of a nearby table covered in merchandise and shoves it until it tips over, sending everything to the floor in a horrific crash. Snow globes shatter and spill all over the carpet and tee shirts fall into a huge pile. Nicky picks up a clothing rack and tosses it directly at the ghost, who scampers away immediately, retreating to the more thorough darkness of the back room.

Nicky pants a little as he recovers and then looks at the front of the store. The sunlight drifts in and if Nicky had just walked closer to the door, the ghost would have had to concede defeat. But Nicky needs a shirt, and he shoves his way through the piles of souvenirs until he can find one that’s still clean.

Unfortunately, Nicky’s display of strength got most of them dirty, and he can’t fit into small, medium, or large sizes to begin with. The only one left in an XL that’s not covered in filmy snow globe water is bright orange with the White House on it and “Land of the Free” in pink glitter below it. Nicky hates it and turns it inside out before putting it on, but it’s so clean that he gets over his distaste within seconds.

There’s a somewhat foggy, half-broken mirror attached to one of the walls of the souvenir shop and Nicky looks himself over, trying to fix his hair and look as presentable he can in a hideous shirt. He gathers his stuff and goes back outside, ducking into a 7-11 to take all of their canned meat for the cat. The walk home seems to take hours; his feet are heavy.

He’s hesitant as he rests his hand on the doorknob, and closes his eyes briefly. Primping like this for Alex— it’s not a friendly gesture, and he knows it. Frozen on the front steps with his palms sweating, ready to see if Alex can still stomach looking at him with the veins more visible, he has to admit that maybe he doesn’t simply love and desire Alex— maybe he’s _in_ love, the way he was never really in love with Eli or the others. Alex is everything Nicky’s ever wanted in a partner, and Alex is stuck with Nicky, and only Nicky, and Alex wakes up with boners and is probably very sexually frustrated. And now, after this haircut and shaving and cleaning, Nicky feels desirable. At least, he will when they turn the lights off.

He forces himself to walk in and shut the door behind him. “Nicky,” Alex calls absently from the living room. Nicky’s relieved that at least Alex is home; the anticipation won’t drag forever. He puts his bag down and swallows, reluctantly shuffling to see Alex.

It takes a second for Alex to glance up. Nicky’s gratified to see that Alex is studying the radio book and flipping through the English-Russian dictionary, but when Alex looks up, all the thoughts fly out of Nicky’s head. In the afternoon light drifting in from the window, Alex looks like he’s almost glowing, and Nicky supposes he’s glowing too. “You look. Uh,” Alex murmurs shakily.

Nicky isn’t sure how to take it, so he does question eyebrows at Alex and holds out a thumbs up.

“God. Uh, yeah.” Alex follows that with something in Russian and then stands, coming closer to Nicky. Nicky almost holds his breath as Alex steps right into his space, so close he can smell Alex’s breath. Alex reaches out and touches the soft skin where Nicky’s beard used to be, the feeling so unbelievably sensitive that Nicky shudders. He keeps his eyes open, though, trained on Alex.

Alex’s other hand comes up to hold Nicky’s face, too, and he leans in and tentatively, so gently, lays a kiss on Nicky’s lips. Nicky’s eyes fall shut and he leans forward to meet Alex, fisting a hand in Alex’s shirt. They’re fucking _kissing_ , and Alex tastes like canned fruit and their noses knock together and Alex digs his fingers into Nicky’s lower back possessively, gripping him like he thinks Nicky’s going to go somewhere. Nicky realizes he’s literally stepping on Alex’s toes and tries to pull away to gesture an apology but Alex catches hold of the back of Nicky’s neck and pulls him in, their teeth clacking a little.

Nicky has to pull back to breathe eventually and angles his head so he can look at Alex as he pants. For his part, Alex looks absolutely stunned, slack-jawed and pink. “Nicky, we— God. Finally. I wanted this for, for forever.”

That’s a little confusing, and Nicky’s face must show his lack of understanding because Alex rubs Nicky’s lower back a little while he clarifies. “You, me, I just want to be with you. I love you. I want to be your boyfriend, and help you with shaking and go with you into the basement. I want to go on dates, and fuck, and— what?”

Nicky’s pulling away, blood like ice in his veins. He doesn’t want to take Alex into the basement, doesn’t want Alex to see him clutching the strap he uses to tie off his arm so he can aim the needle right, doesn’t want to explain to Alex that he was a doctor that ignored a pandemic and abandoned his patients and has performed euthanasia on the dying ghosts he meets in the hospital. Alex can’t know that Nicky left patients to die.

“I know you don’t know lots about sex, but I promise, we can go slow,” Alex is saying, as if he thinks that’s why Nicky’s silently freaking out.

Nicky gathers himself and swallows. He points at Alex, runs a finger through a closed loop on his other hand, and points at himself. Then, he points at the basement and shakes his head. He points at the front door and shakes his head.

_You can fuck me, but you can’t go into the basement, and you can’t go with me outside._

Alex looks like he’s absolutely sure that he’s misunderstanding something, searching Nicky’s face desperately for some kind of clue. “Why? Why are you saying that?” His countenance falls, and his entire expression looks so crestfallen and vulnerable that it tugs at Nicky’s heart. “I thought—do you not want me to kiss you? Do you not want me?”

At least this question is something Nicky can answer honestly. He touches his own chest and then puts a capital L on his heart before realizing that’s not the same thing. He wishes he had a dictionary but he can’t pause now to get one, so he reaches out with both hands and cups Alex’s jaw. He makes sure Alex is watching his face and mouths: _I want you. I want you._

That gets Alex to calm a little, but he’s started frowning. “Why did you shave and shower?”

Nicky drops his hands away from Alex’s jaw and touches one of the veins on the back of his hand. He points at the lamp and then shakes his head, and touches Alex’s chest before shoving one finger through the closed loop of the opposite hand. He touches his own sternum, briefly covers his eyes, and then watches Alex gingerly, waiting for Alex to figure it out.

_I’m infected. In the dark, if you fuck me, you can’t see that I’m infected._

It takes Alex a while to parse it, and Nicky understands why; this is an entirely new set of vocabulary for them, and if it weren’t so painful and stressful for them both, they’d be taking their time with it. Instead, they’re trying to do it all at once, trying not to let adrenaline make them unable to talk.

“You think—I know you’re infected,” Alex snaps, his voice so heavy that Nicky’s suddenly sure that Alex understood the entire thing. “I want you, not some other person that’s not you.”

The words should be magic to Nicky’s ears but because of the tone Alex said them in, Nicky still has to force a smile. He gives Alex a thumbs up and leans in and up a little, intending on kissing Alex.

Alex leans away and Nicky takes the hint, shuffling back a step. “You want to kiss, you want me, you want this,” Alex states, and waits until Nicky nods. “You want to be boyfriends.”

 _Boyfriends. Whatever that means, now that the world is over_ , Nicky thinks. He dreams of fucking Alex, fantasizes about being Alex’s lover, secretly plans dates to places that still work like roller rinks and art museums. _Boyfriends_ is close enough, he guesses, so he nods.

“But you won’t let me see the basement. Won’t let me help you. Won’t tell me your old job.” Alex sounds so tired and defeated that it hurts Nicky under his ribs. “You held me, kissed me back. You say you love me, want me. You say you want to be boyfriends.” Alex seems to wait for Nicky to nod, which he does, reluctantly. “Then _what?”_

Nicky remembers taking off his respirator when it had finally worn out, knowing that doing so guaranteed that he’d be infected sooner rather than later. He remembers euthanizing a ghost who was clearly dying, but that hadn’t tried to hurt Nicky. He remembers turning off the news during the first wave of the outbreak, annoyed at people on TV talking about serious medicine that they didn’t understand.

“What was your job, Nicky?” Alex pleads, and Nicky can’t make eye contact anymore.

He should be able to figure out a cure, if he can figure out an inhibitor. He should be working harder on the radio project to share the inhibitor with the world, even though he’s not sure if anyone with a radio is even within signal distance anymore. He should have started all of this during the first wave of the outbreak. He should have stayed at the hospital and kept replacing his respirators and maybe he’d have saved lives and he’d still be uninfected.

Alex has apparently had enough of watching Nicky’s still hands, and mutters a blistering, “Fuck you,” through his kiss-swollen lips before heading out to the kitchen.

Nicky doesn’t follow.

 

 

 

**NICKY USED TO:**

Nicky showed up at the hospital early the next morning. At the door, volunteers were distributing mandatory respirators, and Nicky had obediently taken one before heading downstairs.

Immediately, he went to get his blood taken exactly as Dr. Trotz had ordered. He took off his lab coat and rolled up his shirt sleeve while Anita readied a tray and chatted to him from behind a respirator. From around the edges of her mask, Nicky could see that she’d gotten an X tattooed on her cheek. She snapped on new gloves and took Nicky’s blood pressure. “You’re the eighth one today,” she said, sounding tired but determined. “They’re trying to set up a partition, but I don’t think there’s time.”

“How long does it take to get results?” Nicky asked, flexing when she told him to.

“For most people, about a day, but Dr. Trotz asked that you be fast-tracked, so maybe a few hours. The lab’s pretty swamped, but it’s the top priority. Everyone’s on shift.” While the cuff deflated, Anita used a hollow tube to dig into one of Nicky’s fatter veins, marking the spot where she’d poke.

“A hundred and thirty over eighty-five," she declared eventually, and then looked at Nicky’s chart. “That’s not normal for you.”

“Does it mean I’m infected?” Nicky asked, throat closing a little in tension.

Anita shook her head, going very still as she poked him in the arm. “You’re probably just stressed out. Trust me, you’d know if you were infected.” Nicky watched as Anita filled up several vials and carefully capped them, placing them to the side. In response to his questioning eyebrows, she clarified, “They’re testing for multiple kinds of immunity.”

Nicky stayed still and when Anita was done with the blood tubes, she carefully cleaned and bandaged the tiny puncture wound. “Are they going to let me know when they’ve got results?”

Anita nodded. “Then you’ll get your tattoo. Those are being done down the hall, in room 1908. So far most people aren’t immune.” She lowered her voice. “It’s painful. Take a pill or something before you get it done.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Nicky answered quietly, smiling. He rolled down his sleeve and bid his farewells, going back to his department. The hospital was getting louder with each passing day, crowded and populated by patients that had started to scream, presumably in pain. Nicky tried not to stare as he made his way down the hallway, watching a patient writhe while strapped down to a gurney. The patient was wearing a respirator that didn’t muffle his howling in the slightest, and blue veins crept along the edges of his face and skull. His blood-red eyes fixed on Nicky and he arched at Nicky, snarling and sniffing desperately although he probably couldn’t smell Nicky through the respirator. _Lyssavirus_ , Nicky reminded himself, and walked faster.

Nicky kept his respirator firmly affixed to his face, not even pulling it off when he was alone in an examination room between patients. He stared blankly into space a few times, listening in horror to the shrieking from down the hall. Calls were constantly coming over the intercom for a code gray to specific room numbers; Nicky knew the patients with the virus were attacking the staff.

Nicky shook himself a little to come back to earth and hit the button that signaled that he was ready for the next patient. The door opened and as he was facing the computer, he said, “Hello, I’m Dr. Backstrom, how can I help you today?”

“I got your test results back.”

Nicky whirled around to see Dr. Trotz, and his stomach dropped. His hands started to sweat while his blood ran cold as ice. Dr. Trotz looked like he did when he delivered news about _it’s terminal_ , about _we tried our best but_ , about _we can keep him comfortable until he passes_. “I’m not immune,” Nicky murmured.

"Neither type of immunity," Dr. Trotz confirmed quietly. He had a dark X on his cheek, skin raised like it was irritated under the new ink. “We’ll have you move to the cordoned area.”

“There’s no— Anita said the cordoned area isn’t even done, that there isn’t one.” Nicky felt like the entire world had gone absolutely silent. He had no immunity. He’d spent his life eating superfoods, attending medical school and prevention conferences, punishing himself at the gym five days a week, and he had no immunity. Everywhere around DC had been pink yesterday, and was probably red by today. Nicky took a deep breath through the respirator. “I’ve been exposed to the infected the entire time.”

Dr. Trotz put down the file he was carrying on the counter by the sink and leaned back against the wall. “Yes.” He’d never been one to mince words, and Nicky had always liked that about him.

“Then there’s no point in moving to another unit.” Nicky stiffened. “Am I infected?”

“No,” Dr. Trotz answered emphatically. “We checked that too. You’re not infected yet.” Immediately, he cringed, like he wished he could take the last word back. “I don’t mean ‘yet,’ I didn’t mean to say that.”

Nicky suddenly had an absurd memory of studying in the library overnight during medical school. His entire body had protested at staying up so late, but he’d told himself that it would be worth it eventually, that he’d do Doctors Without Borders and volunteer at free clinics. He’d powered himself through the night with visions of the person he wanted to become, a person that dedicated his time and energy to the betterment of the world. He had never done any of it. He had taken the first job offer he had gotten and settled for a lifestyle of blandly risking nothing at all.

“There’s no point in moving,” Nicky stated matter-of-factly. “I’ll keep the respirator on, but I’ll keep treating people in my department.”

Dr. Trotz folded his arms and regarded Nicky carefully. “You know that that’s taking a risk with your life.”

Nicky held his gaze. “You’re risking your life being here at all. The patients with the lyssavirus are attacking all the staff, immune or not.”

“Yeah.” Dr. Trotz rubbed his face a little and then stepped closer to Nicky. “I’ve always liked you. If you want to get in a lifeboat before we hit the iceberg, I wouldn’t think less of you for it.”

Nicky stood up, knees cracking audibly even through the ambient hospital noise. Despite the fact that his hands were trembling, he kept his voice steady. “Thank you, but I think we’ve already hit the iceberg, and the patients should get on the lifeboats first.”

Dr. Trotz’s voice was tight when he next spoke. “You’re a good man,” he said, holding out his hand to shake.

Nicky shook his hand and gripped on for a little longer than normal. Dr. Trotz squeezed back.

 

 

 

**NOW**

In the wake of their argument earlier, the rest of the day passes terribly. Nicky goes to bed early, hoping that Alex will join him and they can pretend that they had never kissed and that Nicky hadn’t cleaned himself up in the vain hope that Alex would magically stop being curious about Nicky’s secrets. Nicky still isn’t sure what he had been trying to accomplish. In the wake of the failure that was that entire day, Nicky wants nothing more than to lie down in their bed in the total darkness and feel the warmth of Alex curling up behind him.

Alex eventually comes into the room after doing all of the nighttime closing of windows and barricading of doors. He locks the study door behind himself and shoves a towel under the crack. Then, he crosses the floor with those thudding footsteps and turns off the hanging flashlight. Nicky waits to feel an indent in the mattress, waits to feel Alex’s weight settle beside him, but it doesn’t happen. Instead, he hears the creak of the couch all the way across the room, and the sound of Alex fussing with the blankets that were dumped there unceremoniously when they’d realized they didn’t need all the covers if they slept together.

In the distance, a ghost screams. _I agree, ghost_ , Nicky thinks mournfully.

They lay there in silence, and Alex knows Nicky’s awake and Nicky knows Alex is awake. The darkness is absolute and Nicky listens to Alex breathe in order to remember that he’s not falling into nothingness, that he’s not in a coffin.

“I did bad things,” Alex murmurs, and his voice is quiet and all the way across the room but Nicky can hear him just fine. “Before the outbreak, I did bad things at my company. I told myself it was okay, but it wasn’t.”

Nicky rolls onto his back and turns his head to face in Alex’s direction.

“People lost their jobs. The company lost clients. It was my fault. I stopped, but only when they said they might fire TJ.” Alex pauses. “My only real friend.”

There’s no way for Nicky to respond without turning on the flashlight and his heart clenches at the idea that Alex is usually the one to turn on lights when Nicky needs to talk, usually the one to carry whatever for Nicky because Nicky can’t talk with his hands full. Alex isn’t doing it this time, and Nicky doesn’t want to interrupt Alex’s speech because for once, he’s not sure if Alex will continue if he’s interrupted.

“Then, I didn’t have a job. Months happened, and then the outbreak. It was hell for a long time. But then I met you.” It sounds like he’s smiling a little. “And then I thought, this isn’t hell. It’s—” and then he says a word in Russian. “It’s a chance for me to be a good person again. Not heaven or hell, but between. Maybe what I did wasn’t bad enough for hell. I still have a chance to be good.”

Nicky desperately wants to hold him, but keeps his hands to himself.

Alex sounds like his smile has faded. “And you tell me you love me, and I love you. And we kiss, and flirt, and watch movies. You teach me how to talk to you. We go shopping, we go to the library. You say you want me. I want you, too.”

The worst part is how Alex sounds so _hopeless_.

“You say I can’t follow you, or look in the basement, so I don’t. You say we can be boyfriends, but you don’t tell me anything.” Alex sounds tired— not like he wants to sleep, but like he’s exhausted by the weight of the shit Nicky’s put him through. “You say you trust me, but you don’t tell me what you do that’s so evil.”

 _I have killed patients that meant me no harm_ , Nicky thinks, but even if he had a voice, he wouldn’t be able to admit it out loud. If he had let them live, maybe he would have discovered a cure in time to save them. _I performed experiments on patients in stage 3_ , he’d have to say, because he’s tried to give his inhibitor drugs to the ghosts that are dying, in the hope that the disease would roll back to stage 2, or even 1. He hadn’t known if they’d work, but he’d tried it anyway. The drugs did nothing, in the end.

“So now I’m still living here, but I want to be with someone that doesn’t want me to love him,” Alex concludes, voice a tired rumbling murmur. “I was right the first time. This _is_ hell.”

After that, he seems to fall asleep quickly. Nicky lays rigid for hours, eventually giving up on rest and going to the basement, hoping the cat will let him pet her.


	5. tune in

#  FIVE. ALEX.

**NOW**

After the argument, the house feels like it’s closing in on Alex. He moves through the day doing what he has to, but part of him is remembering what it was like before he met Nicky: alone, no reason to smile, no hope for a better kind of future. The world has turned gray and claustrophobic again, and Alex no longer hums while he works.

They eat breakfast together in a stilted silence. It’s too routine for either of them to skip it, but instead of conversing, they shovel food directly from cans to their mouths. Eventually, Nicky knocks his knuckles against the table in a bid for Alex’s attention.

Alex looks up, because even though his pride is hurt and he feels wounded, he’d never forcibly mute Nicky by refusing to look at him; he deserves to at least be watched and respected. Nicky points at Alex and then at himself, then reads his spread palms and shapes his fingers into the roof of a house.

“No point in going to the library,” Alex mutters gruffly. “The books we use are here.”

After faltering for a second so brief Alex thinks he might have imagined it, Nicky shakes his head and then strokes his invisible cat. He holds out his hands like he’s nine months pregnant and caressing a swollen belly and then reads his blank palms again.

It’s a good point. Alex doesn’t know anything about cat pregnancy, and they need to be ready. “You go. I’ll stay here.”

Nicky frowns and gestures between the two of them, expression shifting to something more entreating.

“I haven’t even seen the cat,” Alex responds bitterly. “It’s in the basement. Where I can’t go.”

He’d thought Nicky would be cowed, but instead, Nicky’s face hardens. He points at Alex, wiggles his finger side to side before shoving it through his fist and points at himself. Then, he points at Alex and stands up, grabs the handle to a cupboard door and slams it shut. Then, he points at himself, and Alex notices he’s breathing heavily.

_You can’t fuck me so you shut the door on me._

“What do you do in the basement?” Alex asks, sitting up straight but refusing to stand for this. He knows that if he stands up, it’ll escalate beyond what either of them needs. Beyond what either of them can really handle anymore.

Nicky points at Alex, shapes his fingers into an L and puts the L on his heart, and then does question eyebrows. His eyes are wild and the entire effect is disconcerting.

“Of course I do. I tell you all the fucking time.” Alex smacks his hand against the table. “I tell you _everything_.”

There’s no response, because of course there isn’t. Nicky’s never going to tell him what he does in the basement. Alex realizes he’s shaking with rage and takes a deep breath, trying to calm down, and notices with some dismay that Nicky’s shuddering as well. It’s the trembling of a fit, not of emotion, and Alex lurches to his feet to reach out for Nicky’s arm.

Nicky pulls away from him, glaring even as he shudders. It takes him a while to make it to the basement door, but Alex has to just swallow and watch.

 

 

 

**ALEX USED TO:**

The company cafeteria sucked, but it was the dinner hour and rush hour in this city all usually combined into one colossal _“you’ll have to wait to be seated, sir”_ and Alex knew better than to try to get a table at a real restaurant. He got his company dinner on a weird tray that reminded him of being in school as a young boy, and sat down in the cafeteria chairs that made him feel like a giant.

TJ sat down across from him after a couple minutes. “Why is everything here so small?” TJ complained, as if he weren’t much smaller than Alex and therefore much more comfortable. “Adults work here.”

“Is the lasagna good?” Alex asked, eyeing TJ’s tray.

“You’ve got chicken fingers, leave my food alone,” TJ answered with a grin. “Why not just get what you really want?”

Alex readied his fork and quickly stole a bite of the lasagna. He chewed it thoughtfully while TJ laughed. “Like rubber,” Alex complained.

“That’s what you get for stealing.” TJ helped himself to his chewy lasagna and belatedly remembered to tuck a napkin into his collar to protect his suit. “Why are you here still, anyway?”

“Haven’t finished the files. Have to stay late,” Alex said, and ate a chicken finger in one bite. “You?”

TJ groaned a little. “Ronnie in finance wanted to bond over Eagle Scouts. I guess he was walking by and saw my computer wallpaper, so now he thinks we’ve got a lot in common or something over a thing we both did back in high school. I tried to get him to leave but he wouldn’t take the hint.”

“Eagle Scouts? You trained eagles?” Alex asked, eyes wide.

“Oh, God, no,” TJ responded immediately. He wiped his mouth off with his napkin and launched into an explanation. “When Boy Scouts get older, they can do a bunch of stuff and become Eagle Scouts. It’s a really big accomplishment, and you have to show that you’re committed to helping the community, surviving in nature, first aid, cooking, stuff like that. So now Ronnie thinks we’ve got loads to talk about.”

Alex was hoping there were eagles. “No eagles at all? Why is it called Eagle Scouts?”

“Because of America,” TJ answered, grinning when Alex rolled his eyes. “Caw caw, babe.”

“The next time Ronnie tries to stop you, say you have to see me.” Alex attempted to affect TJ’s voice. “‘Oh no, sorry, I have to see that handsome Alex back in accounting. Talk to you later, Ronnie.’” He grinned. “I will say it’s true if he asks.”

TJ reached across the table and gave Alex a hearty smack on the shoulder. “You’re the best,” TJ declared.

Alex preened. “I know,” he said, proud of himself. Nobody else was really in the cafeteria to hear Alex get called ‘the best’ by TJ, but it didn’t matter. “You can pay me back by helping me train eagles,” he said happily, just to see TJ roll his eyes in fond exasperation.

 

 

 

**NOW**

By some unspoken agreement, Alex and Nicky avoid each other.

Well, that’s not entirely true, Alex thinks. They spend time in the same room together, they exchange small talk, and they study the radio book. They can’t actually avoid each other— it’s literally too emotionally painful for Alex to bear, and he assumes the same for Nicky. Having someone in his life that he loves but feels uncomfortable around is still better than having literally nobody, and Alex doesn’t want to start talking to mannequins again.

The third day after their kiss, Nicky disappears for the entire day and stays missing all night. Alex pretends that he can sleep, and pretends he’s not scared to death. Ultimately, it’s useless and he doesn’t even know who he’s trying to convince. He sits up in his bed, staring into the darkness and listening for anything but hoarse freaks screaming. He hears nothing.

The sun finally comes up. Nicky comes home, and Alex wants to grab him and pin him down to the floor and press his arms against Nicky’s chest and never let him up again. He wants to shake Nicky by the shoulders, yelling about taking stupid risks, but it’s illogical; Nicky’s not at risk from the freaks, not like Alex is. He wants to demand, _Don’t you know how much it scares me when you’re gone_ , but it’s pathetic and he knows it. Nicky won’t even tell Alex where he goes.

Nicky has started to look… worse. Different. His blue veins are spreading, creeping further and further across his face and neck, and presumably the rest of his body as well. He spends a lot of time in the basement, and Alex assumes it’s to play with the cat. Nicky’s episodes are getting more frequent; he used to have a fit every day, and now it’s happening every couple of hours.

He still doesn’t ask Alex for help.

 

 

 

**AFTER THE OUTBREAK:**

The power grid hadn’t gone down immediately. Alex had been able to shower for the first week or two after the plague really became an outbreak, and he’d been grateful that the water had still been clean; the new tattoo on his cheek itched and he needed to clean it a lot to keep it from getting crusty.

He’d wasted most of that time. Or, to be more specific, he’d been clueless about what to do. He’d tried in vain to call anyone he knew even though he’d correctly guessed that the cell towers weren’t going to respond. He knew full well that most people he’d known were probably dead. He’d barricaded himself inside basements and storerooms and any kind of windowless storm shelter so that he wouldn’t die as well.

Most of all, he’d been certain it couldn’t last more than a week. He’d thought his reasoning was solid: he lived in the capital city of a country with a huge military and a lot of technology. _Save us,_ he’d prayed for the first month or two. _Please, God, save us._

Eventually, the nights got quieter, and Alex stopped seeing evidence of other uninfected people in the city. Animals were disappearing, and as the power grid truly failed, everything became very quiet. _I’m alone_ , he thought in horror. He prayed again, but changed the words. _Save me. Please, save me_.

 

 

 

**NOW**

Alex and Nicky sit at the table eating breakfast. Or rather, Alex eats breakfast and watches as Nicky picks at his food. Nicky tossed and turned all night, waking up multiple times to go down to the basement. Alex heard him, and wants to ask about it, but Nicky’s made it clear that none of that is any of Alex’s business.

The way Nicky picks at his food, though, is too much. “Do you want something else? You usually like canned fruit.” The definition of _liking_ something has changed a lot since the world ended. Alex is pretty sure that before the apocalypse, nobody would ever choose to eat canned mixed fruit by itself if there were anything else available. Now, they think of it like a dessert.

Nicky looks greenish around the edges, not his normal cyanotic glow but something more akin to nausea. He shakes his head and touches his stomach lightly, and it’s as if the motion triggers something because he immediately doubles over and jerks clumsily toward the sink, where he throws up. Alex is on his feet immediately and comes over, touching Nicky’s back.

The mess in the sink looks to be composed entirely of water. “Have you been eating at all?” Alex asks, guilt creeping in when Nicky shakes his head. “Is it my fault? Not eating because you’re depressed?”

Nicky shakes his head adamantly and rinses out his mouth before making eye contact. Their height difference is always quite slight but Alex feels it keenly as Nicky looks up at him, his gray-green eyes nearly swallowed by an inky shade of blue. Nicky touches his own stomach and makes a chagrined expression.

“I’m sorry,” Alex says, and all of the anger he’d built up over the fight dissipates so quickly that it almost seems absurd that it was ever there. “I’m just frustrated, you know, with your secrets. But. I’m sorry.”

Nicky reaches out tentatively, as if he expects Alex to shove him away, or worse, grip his hands so Nicky can’t speak. Alex stands still and lets Nicky gently wrap his arms around him, resting his chin on Alex’s collarbone. He hugs Nicky back, exhaling deeply when neither of them pull away. “You know whatever you say, I keep loving you,” Alex murmurs.

Nicky shakes his head.

“That’s because you’re dumb.” Alex lets Nicky pull away when he’s done, and runs a hand gently across Nicky’s hair. It’s more of a romantic gesture than Alex is sure he’s allowed, but Nicky doesn’t seem to mind. “What are you doing today?”

Nicky leans into the touch and takes a minute to answer. Eventually he points at the door and puts invisible items in an invisible basket before finally running his fingers down across his face from his hairline.

_I’m going shopping where there are freaks._

Alex nods, a quiet acceptance. “I’m going to keep working on the radio book. Tonight, maybe a movie?”

Nicky nods jerkily in agreement and Alex smiles. “I’ve missed movies.” Nicky gestures at himself and then holds up two fingers.

They split up after Nicky feeds the cat and Alex pulls out the dictionary and radio book. The front door closes and Alex dives back in, something around his chest feeling lighter and making it easier to focus. He’s almost to the point where he could get radio gear together and start working hands-on, and he starts jotting items down on a list.

The day is slower than it ever is with Nicky beside him, and he finds himself eating out of boredom. He designs for a shelter for the cat, so the cat can move back outside but still be out of reach from the freaks. Something with an opening big enough for her to get through but small enough that freaks can’t follow her. Something deep, so they can’t reach in. He thinks of what to name her, and happily starts making a list of ideas.

 

 

 

**ALEX USED TO:**

Alex was flipping through the files when he saw the complaint.

Apparently the higher-ups were conducting more layoffs, and normally that didn’t concern Alex very deeply. Lately, though, he knew that some of the layoffs may have been in the wake of his own ethical missteps. He may have started a ripple effect, facilitated by his superiors’ encouragement, that led to people losing their jobs. And normally, he would write that off as well— if he didn’t bend the rules, someone else would, and he needed this job— but not this time.

The form was an internal memo, showing use of company funds and the disputed charges from their creditors. The department had billed four times its budget and Alex had been there for most of it— he’d been paid off to turn a blind eye, and now it was catching up to him in the form of an employee ID number at the top of the page, supposedly identifying the person that had used company funds for such stupid purposes. It was TJ’s number.

When TJ was new, he’d always forgotten his ID number. When he’d tried to log onto the system, he’d gotten locked out so many times that eventually he’d just hung the number in his cubicle on an index card. Alex had seen it idly out of the corner of his eye a thousand times while leaning against TJ’s cube doorway. TJ, who played videogames with Alex every weekend, who dragged Alex to the theater whenever a new superhero movie came out, who helped Alex move and drove him to the airport, who slept beside him and trusted him.

The bottom fell out of Alex’s stomach. _My best friend_ , he thought.

It took him a while to detail all of the charges he’d made and submit them for approval. The higher-ups always encouraged them to be specific with expense reports, so Alex was as specific as he could be. His list ended up having fields like: _drink for hot man at bar; casino game with yelling; room service cheesecake; champagne for hot woman at pool._

He was fired within an hour of submitting the report. When they came to tell him, he already had his things in a box, and TJ was standing in the hallway looking devastated. Alex had balanced his box on his hip to free up one of his hands so he could ruffle TJ’s hair.

Alex and TJ still met up multiple times a week, and Alex let TJ assume that he was fired just because of routine layoffs and nothing else.

“Aren’t you pissed that they laid you off?” TJ hollered at him in the middle of singing _Sweet Child of Mine_ at karaoke. The neon pink lighting was making it look like TJ was wearing a crown. “And you lost your sick new apartment, and your Lexus, but you don’t even look mad.”

Alex hopped up onstage and leaned close to the microphone. TJ reeked of beer and Alex knew he probably did too, and they smiled tipsily at each other. “Not really. I have you, baby! Best friend! Company can’t take you away!”

“Sing, douchebags!” someone yelled from the audience. Alex clumsily waved a hand at the angry voice.

“Company can't take me away! Never! Best friends, babe!” TJ shouted against the microphone, and half the bar made a groaning noise of complaint.

_Can’t make the adoring fans wait_ , Alex thought happily, and pulled TJ close so they could both sing into the same microphone.

 

 

 

**NOW**

The front door opens and closes, loud and startling in the silence of the house. Alex jerks a little in surprise, having entirely lost track of time. He can hear Nicky go through all the steps of spraying everything down with bleach to remove his scent, shoving a towel against the crack under the door, and shuffling down the hallway.

“Are you hungry? I forgot to make anything. I was working,” Alex says, although he conveniently leaves out the part where his “work” was a list of names for the cat.

Nicky shakes his head. He looks worse for wear, and Alex sits up straight when he spots a bruise on Nicky’s jaw. “Someone hit you?” he asks, tense.

Nicky shakes his head and holds up his hands at chest level. He shakes them like he’s having one of his spells, then taps his foot once against the floor. Without adding anything more, he heads into the study where he and Alex sleep, and out of Alex’s line of sight.

Alex knows it’s just about movie time, so he gulps down a can of beans as fast as he can. He brainstorms about what movie he’d choose for each genre Nicky likes. He gets startled out of his devising by the sound of music.

_Music._ Alex nearly drops the can and hastily hauls ass over to the study. Nicky is standing in front of the TV, which is still dead and dusty, but on top of it something is glowing. Alex shuts the door behind himself and shoves the towel under it before heading over. “Nicky, what’s this?” he asks, voice a bit hoarse.

Nicky messes with the little thing, and Alex realizes it’s a portable DVD player, and it’s playing a menu. Alex’s eyes take a while to adjust to the sudden glow after months of shitty flashlights, and he swallows at the sight of the DVD menu for _Titanic._ He curses in Russian and can’t bring himself to look away from the screen. Nicky selects _Play_ and then gently takes Alex’s arm, leading him to sit on the couch beside him.

The movie starts, and Alex takes a long time to find his voice. After a year and a half of nothing, of nobody but Nicky, of trying to relive every movie he’d ever seen and trying to remember things that were gradually getting hazy— after all of that, it’s hard to blink, let alone speak. “How?” Alex whispers hoarsely. “None of the players run on batteries. I tried to find one.”

He looks over at Nicky for the answer, and Nicky holds his hands out like he’s driving a car. Then, he gestures like he’s plugging something in. “They have a car adapter,” Alex says in realization, and Nicky nods. “You, you took this, and hotwired a car, and ran the car until it was charged.”

Nicky nods. Alex adds quietly, “For me,” and Nicky nods again, somewhat more hesitant, more cautious.

Alex turns back to the screen. It’s small, about the size of one of his hands, and it’s halfway across the study from the couch but he doesn’t care. He barely blinks, watching and listening. Other than kissing Nicky, it’s the best moment he’s had since the world ended.

The bliss lasts until Jack is freezing to death. His face is blue, especially his lips, and Alex thinks again of Nicky’s cyanotic glow. Nicky’s isn’t hypothermia— it’s the disease fucking up his blood cells— but it is getting worse as time goes. Nicky looks slightly worse than Jack, and Jack’s about to die.

Alex’s stomach drops. He thought he’d asked all the questions, thought he understood everything, but there was one answer he desperately needed. He gets up, crosses the room and pauses the movie. The battery’s going to keep draining but Alex has something clutching around his stomach like a vice, and it can’t wait. “Are you dying?” he asks, and it’s not the right phrasing but it gets to the point.

The scene on the movie is dark, and it barely illuminates Nicky’s hands and face at all as he shrugs a little and looks at the floor.

“You said you are never going to stage 2, but how long can people stay alive in stage 1?” Alex asks— the real question he should have asked years ago.

Again, Nicky shrugs.

“What can I do to help?” Alex demands, and before Nicky shakes his head, Alex interrupts the inevitable shutdown by blurting, “Don’t say ‘nothing.’ You got worse after I kissed you.” He stills. “Was it because I kissed you? Do I have a disease?”

Nicky shakes his head and points at the DVD player, finally looking up at Alex and frowning. He obviously wants to keep watching, but for once, Alex ignores him. “Why don’t you know? Why are you in stage 1 for so long? Why aren’t you afraid? Why are you worse and worse since we kissed?”

Nicky stands up and glares more adamantly, pointing at the DVD player and then at Alex.

“I know the DVD player was for me, I don’t care. You kissed me too, you’re getting sicker since you said we can’t do it.” Alex can see Nicky’s angry shaking even in the dim light, and he should probably let up because Nicky’s rage is building but he doesn’t care. “You want to be together, but you don’t want help. You’re dying and you don’t tell me why. You say I won’t love you anymore but you don’t even give me a chance.” At this point, Nicky’s shaking has worsened and Alex suspects that the rage has given way to another episode, but he doesn’t stop to help Nicky to the basement, doesn’t even stop talking. Nicky doesn’t want help and Alex has finally received the fucking message. “You are so stupid and arrogant and you’re—”

Nicky has apparently had enough. He straightens his back and marches over to the door, yanking the towel out from under it. He twists the doorknob and heads into the darkness of the hallway, and Alex stalks after him. “No,” he snaps. “You’re not going outside! It’s night!”

Nicky whirls around and points his finger at Alex. Alex stops and they stare at each other in a stalemate for what feels like an eternity before Nicky slowly puts his finger to his lips. It’s not a gesture they’ve used before, but Alex remembers it from childhood.

_Be quiet._

He’s inclined to argue, but Nicky’s focus has shifted and his head is angling towards the door. He’s hearing something Alex can’t, and Alex supposes that’s the infection—as the infection makes people intolerant to light, it makes them able to hear things they never would have before. Alex trusts Nicky enough to stay still.

Eventually, he hears it too: a rustling outside the door. It doesn’t sound like freaks, but maybe they’re learning how to stay quiet. Maybe it’s an animal, but even if it is, opening the door in the night would still bring all the freaks over. Nicky and Alex stay frozen in the hallway, and as the shuffling sound continues, Nicky focuses again on Alex and talks to him.

He presses his fingers in an L shape on his heart, and then points at Alex. He touches his own chest, shakes a finger from side to side, and then does the L again. He makes a fist with one hand and silently, silently punches the palm of his other hand before gesturing at Alex and then himself, and lets his hands go slack for a minute, waiting to see if Alex understands.

_I love you. I don’t love to fight with you._

Nicky looks so tired, and Alex can’t speak out loud because the freak will hear. His anger drains; he touches his own chest and then holds up two fingers.

_Me too._

Nicky looks longingly at the bedroom, clearly exhausted. They stand still, right where they were, for so long that Alex’s ankles start feeling stiff. He waits for Nicky’s go-ahead, since Nicky’s the one that can hear.

When they shuffle back into the bedroom, Nicky turns the DVD player off and Alex carefully stuffs the towel right where it was under the door. When he talks, he keeps his voice down. “It was a nice surprise, Nicky. Thank you.”

Nicky settles down on the mattress on the floor, stretching and looking up at Alex. The flashlight is still on and when Nicky points at Alex and then touches the empty spot on the bed beside him, his expression is so hopeful that Alex can’t bear to say no. For better or for worse, he climbs in right beside Nicky and turns off the flashlight.

 

 

 

**ALEX USED TO:**

Alex hated unemployment. He hated sending out resumes, hated explaining that he got fired from his previous job, hated informing friends and family why he was looking for work again, and hated having an income of zero.

“If it makes you feel any better, work sucks without you,” TJ said over beers at a sports bar. They probably spent too much time there, but the karaoke bar kept kicking them out.

“Doesn’t help,” Alex said, but he was grinning a little.

“Whatever, man. If it gets any worse, I’ll quit too.” They clinked glasses and TJ took a swig of beer.

Alex beamed in response but still kept up the disagreement. “Hey. Nothing’s worse than not having a job.”

TJ smiled back. “Then look at it like that. This is your rock bottom, and your life’ll only get better from here. Silver lining, or something.”

“Fuck yeah.” Alex couldn’t help but cheer up a little. TJ was right, probably. Nothing could possibly get worse from then on out.

 

 

 

**NOW**

Alex wakes up absolutely panicking, jerking away from something without even consciously thinking about it. _There’s a freak in here, there’s a freak in here and it’s got me_ , Alex keeps thinking as he lurches around towards the flashlight because he can hear that horrible wheezing and—

It’s Nicky.

He stops thrashing once he’s got the light on and can shine the beam down at Nicky’s chest and hands. At first, he thinks Nicky’s vocalizing, but then he realizes that’s not quite right— Nicky’s not using his vocal cords. The noise is coming from deep in his chest, as if he’s trying to breathe around something large stuck just above his lungs. His airway is still obstructed up top, where he seems like he’s choking on his own tongue. His fingers are contorted into claws, ripping a little at the blankets that he’s thrown off.

Alex swears and uses his right hand to shake Nicky awake while the other keeps the beam of the flashlight pointed at Nicky’s still-closed eyes. After struggling against Alex for a few moments, Nicky seems to go slack and then wake up, squinting against the bright beam. “Open your eyes,” Alex barks.

Nicky immediately complies, even though it must hurt. Alex lunges down and shines the light directly at Nicky’s irises and pupils, absolutely fucking relieved at the way Nicky’s pupils shrink and there’s no red to be seen. His irises are the same gray-green as they’ve always been, but the whites of his eyes are entirely gone, flooded with the inky deep blue that’s been creeping in faster since their kiss. Nicky hasn’t stopped shaking, and he raises his hands.

Immediately, Alex’s instinct is to drop the flashlight and grip Nicky’s wrists because he’s not entirely sure how much of Nicky is still home. He forces himself to let Nicky shakily move his hands, although he stays firmly straddling Nicky’s stomach, not letting him get up.

It takes Nicky longer to do the gestures, and Alex hopes that that’s because his hands are shaking and not because his conscious mind is on its last legs. Nicky touches his chest, and when he can’t flex his fingers properly, he drags a fingernail across his heart in the shape of an L. He watches Alex and mouths something. He has to do it twice but eventually Alex can see: _you, Alex._

A freak wouldn’t say that, wouldn’t even know _how_ to say it in Alex and Nicky’s third language. Alex drops the flashlight and feels all his adrenaline crash at once. He slumps forward in the dark and rests his head on Nicky’s chest, wheezing hoarsely. “I love you too.”

He’s so shaken that he forgets to lean back up so that Nicky can talk back. After a moment, he feels two shaky hands settle on him, one on his back and one on the nape of his neck. Even though Nicky’s the one that’s in pain, he’s comforting Alex.

That thought alone brings back a measure of rational thought to Alex’s noisy psyche and he sits up, climbing off of Nicky. “Go to basement, fix yourself.” Alex mumbles, trying to sound gruff and pretty sure he seems terrified instead. He sits back on his heels and slowly helps Nicky into a standing position, although Nicky still goes downstairs by himself. After the door closes behind him, Alex sits down on the mattress and stares blankly at the floor.

The image of Nicky thrashing under the beam of the flashlight is burned into Alex’s memory. Nicky doesn’t look the same anymore. He looks like he’s one of the freaks, the only aspect missing being the red irises. Whatever Nicky was doing to stay in stage one is clearly no longer working. Alex had fantasized forever about hearing Nicky’s voice, even just a whisper, but now that he’s heard choking he’d rather go back to complete silence. He doesn’t give a fuck about talking anymore, he just—

If Nicky dies, Alex doesn’t know what he’ll do.

Alex balls his hands into fists and runs them across his face, trying to think around the horrific sense of dread and inevitability curling under his stomach. _I wasted my life and then the world ended and now I’m losing the one person that loves me that’s still alive_ , he thinks, and then forces himself to stop that train of thought. If Nicky dies, Alex will continue to breathe in and out, and his heart will keep beating, and he’ll still have Immunity Type 2. He’ll be alive, just like he was before Nicky.

_No, I won’t_ , says the treacherous voice in the back of his head.

Nicky is taking too fucking long in the basement. Alex stands and pounds on the basement door, not giving a fuck if any freaks outside can hear. He’ll grab a knife if they try anything. He’ll set the whole house on fire. He doesn’t care. “Nicky! Make big noise if you’re okay!”

He waits a moment and then there’s a crash down in the basement. He’s a little worried it’s just the cat, so he barks, "Again!” And again, there’s a crash.

Alex paces across the house, in full view of the windows and _still_ not caring. He can see in the dark pretty well by now, or at least has stopped really noticing bruises on his shins and toes from running into tables and chairs of homeowners that are probably freaks by now. Nicky is still alive, and he’s not in stage 2, and Alex needs to—needs to figure out how to make that stick, try to make Nicky fucking stay alright. He needs to make sure Nicky doesn’t lose his mind, because once it’s gone, there’s no way to get it back.

He smacks the wall in frustration and turns around, staring out the window into the darkness of the city, hoping to see a light even though he knows there won’t be one. He can’t fix Nicky, can’t make him healthy, so he has to find someone who can.

_The radio_ , he realizes.

Alex accidentally breaks an end table in his rush to get back to the kitchen where the study materials are spread on the counter. He can’t really see, but he grabs the books anyway and moves them into the room where they sleep. The sun will come up soon, and Alex is going to have his list all ready for radio shopping. He’s going to figure this out. He’s going to keep Nicky well.

He studies by flashlight, better able to focus now that he’s got a plan. He gets a pen and paper and makes a list detailing everything he’ll need. He isn’t sure where to get everything, but he’s pretty sure he can at least start at the electronics store. He can take a car if it’s far away. He can get Nicky to hotwire another one.

He’s so intent and focused that when the door opens, the sunlight is startling. Alex squints a little and looks up. He’s studied for so long that apparently it’s morning, and Nicky is standing in the doorway blinking slowly. His eyes are still flooded with blue, and he seems exhausted.

Alex can’t remember why he cared so much that Nicky wouldn’t kiss him. It seems like a million years ago. It seems so fucking stupid, now.

Nicky walks with a slight drag to his feet and sits down on the mattress by Alex. He moves like it takes effort, and Alex reaches out to steady him a couple times. “You okay?" he inquires, even though it’s probably the stupidest question he’s ever asked.

Nicky nods, but it’s clearly just a formality. He rests against Alex’s side and Alex can’t help but tangle a hand in Nicky’s hair and kiss the top of his head.

“Today we’re going to get radio parts,” Alex declares, making it clear that it’s not a suggestion. “We need to make a radio. Now. You’re sick.”

Nicky shakes his head, and Alex belatedly realizes that he made too many statements at once; he’s got no idea what Nicky’s disagreeing with. He rubs his thumb in circles behind Nicky’s ear and silently admires the way Nicky shudders and inhales quickly, arching into the touch. “Radio parts. We’re going shopping for radio parts today,” Alex says, starting over.

Nicky shakes his head under Alex’s hand and tilts his head up to make eye contact. He touches his own chest and then shakes his head, gesturing at the basement. He holds out his hands, makes them tremble, and touches his wrist. He holds up two fingers and then three, and then points at the basement again.

It takes a second for Alex to understand, and when he does, it hurts like he’s been fucking stabbed. “You can’t leave here anymore, not for more than two or three hours,” Alex repeats back, voice empty.

Nicky nods and pushes his face against Alex’s shoulder, gradually leaning all the way into Alex and holding him. Alex figures that Nicky’s signaling that he would rather be held than do more talking, so he shifts position to wrap his arms around Nicky. “Okay,” Alex says quietly. “I’m going alone. You stay here and take care of you. And take care of the cat.”

Nicky doesn’t respond. Alex runs a hand up and down Nicky’s back, listening to him breathe, feeling his heartbeat. Up and down, again and again, until Nicky falls asleep.

 

 

 

**AFTER THE OUTBREAK:**

Alex had looked for all the people he’d cared about, and that list had only one name on it. He’d gone to TJ’s apartment building, only to be daunted by the amount of dark, freak-friendly space that he’d have to go through in order to get to TJ’s door. There were no fire exit stairwells on the outside of the building. He’d stood on the street and yelled at TJ’s window for four days in a row. He’d only stopped because his voice had given out.

He’d chosen to believe that TJ had left when the outbreak got bad. He’d chosen to believe that TJ, as a person with a job, would have had the money to hop on a train or bus or something. He’d chosen to believe that, because the alternatives were unthinkable.

 

 

 

**NOW**

It takes two days to pick out radio shit that he needs. It’s hard to figure everything out in the store when he’s half-shopping and half-watching out for freaks. Eventually, he gets too pissed off to be very effective and on the evening of the second day he comes home with huge bags of literally every damn radio part he could find in the stupid store.

Nicky isn’t by the door when he gets home, so he shoves all the bags into the hallway before spraying down the front steps and going through the procedures for locking up the house. True to what he said, Nicky’s been spending a lot of time cooped up in the basement doing—doing whatever the hell he does down there, and Alex has been out of the house for most of the time they’re awake. He comes home before it’s dark, but today he was kind of pushing it, and he assumes Nicky’s already asleep.

His heart jumps up into his throat when he comes into the kitchen, because Nicky’s there, awake, and he’s holding a Siamese cat. The cat is white with the typical faded black paws and face, and looks plump around the middle. “Oh,” Alex says, because it’s just a cat, and he shouldn’t be choking up, but. The world ended. He’s allowed.

Nicky looks at Alex with a little bit of concern, and Alex realizes he’s not really showing his emotions very clearly. “She’s so beautiful, Nicky. She trusts you? I thought she was scared of you.”

There’s a pause where Nicky just stares at Alex, and Alex realizes: Nicky can’t answer. He’s holding the cat. Alex rephrases quickly. “She trusts you now?"

Nicky smiles a little and nods, scratching lightly behind the cat’s ear. He’s so gentle, so calm, not like a freak at all and Alex silently prays to God and his ancestors that Nicky will stay like this. “You bring her upstairs to see me?" Alex asks, hoarse.

Nicky nods again, and Alex slowly shuffles forward, reaching out. “Hi, mama,” he says softly to the cat, cooing a little. Her fur is soft and warm. Alex only touches her for a moment before she begins to squirm, and then he jerks backward. She clearly doesn’t trust him, and Alex doesn’t want her to jump to the ground out of fear. He keeps a distance and watches as Nicky silently calms the cat.

When Nicky looks back up at Alex, his face looks mottled, eyes rimmed in a sickly, strange purple. Alex jerks forward, trying to figure out what’s wrong so he can help, when he realizes—oh. Nicky’s crying. The blue of his eyes is masking the red, making the edges of his eyelids turn grayish. “Are you okay?” Alex blurts again, terrified of the answer no matter what the answer is.

Nicky nods and smiles, fooling literally nobody with that sniffle. He carries the cat over to the basement door and opens it carefully with one hand, deposits the cat on the top step and closes the door so she can’t get out again. He wipes his face more blatantly and then gets distracted. Alex follows Nicky’s gaze and then snorts, a little embarrassed. “Yeah, ah, I couldn’t figure out all the radio parts, and got very tired, and angry, so. Brought them all here.”

Even though he’s silent about it, Nicky laughs at Alex. “Yeah, yeah, so funny,” Alex complains back, but seeing Nicky laugh is beautiful, and he can’t help but smile. “Look, you’re going to help me make the radio, okay? We have a flashlight. No movies until we finish the radio.”

The sulking look Nicky gives him is absolutely insincere, given that Nicky’s face is still crinkled with mirth, but Alex responds with a faux scold anyway. “No complaining.” He grabs some of the bags of radio crap and drags them into the study. Nicky immediately helps, and together they move all the books and bags into the room. Nicky turns on the light and Alex locks the door behind them and both of them settle down on the bed, looking at all the crap around them.

“We’ll start with this,” Alex says, and opens up a diagram from one of the books. It takes them a while to get the parts together, and Nicky has to be the one to open up all the ridiculous packaging because Alex breaks a transistor or resistor or something because he’s so annoyed with the plastic casing on the package. Nicky silently laughs at him.

“It’s like IKEA,” Alex says, pretending to be stern. “So you should be really good at putting it all together, because you’re Swedish.” Alex points at the diagram in the book. “See? It has pictures, like with IKEA furniture.”

Nicky does question eyebrows and then points at Alex, then at the diagram.

“Russians don’t need diagrams,” Alex says haughtily. “In Russia, radios are already made.”

Nicky holds out two fists and makes a gesture like he’s snapping a pencil, then does question eyebrows again.

“Doesn’t happen. Russian machine never breaks,” Alex responds proudly, chin tilted up a little for a moment.

He watches Nicky, waiting for another question, but Nicky just watches him, gaze soft. Alex goes back to looking down at the diagram, and he debates looking around the study for a marker or pen that hasn’t died yet because maybe it would be easier if he could just label everything, and—

There are soft lips pressed against his, smooth skin touching his rough beard. Nicky’s hands are holding Alex’s jaws and it’s so, so soft and Alex goes very still in shock. Fortunately, Nicky waits him out, and Alex manages to kiss back, soft and open-mouthed but no tongue. It’s too gentle for that. Alex’s thoughts fade, the reality of how sick Nicky is melting away. For that moment, the world hasn’t ended, Nicky isn’t dying, and Alex’s stomach flutters because he’s kissing the cute guy from the library. The cute guy likes him, and they’re working on a project for school but they’re just taking a moment to kiss because they’re young and in love.

Alex feels Nicky’s eyelashes against his cheek for a half second before Nicky pulls back. He slowly opens his eyes to see that Nicky’s smiling stupidly down at the radio equipment. Alex wants to kiss him some more but decides not to push. The group project will take a long time, after all, and the cute guy seems like the patient type.

He can’t let Nicky think he’s not thrilled, though, so he reaches out and cups Nicky’s cheek with his hand. Nicky’s smile doesn’t fade under Alex’s palm. Nicky looks up at him, and Alex could get lost in those blue and green eyes.

 

 

 

**AFTER THE OUTBREAK:**

Alex had been alone for a long time before he finally started talking to mannequins. It had been a rainy day, and he’d been stuck in front of a Target for what felt like forever.

Eventually he’d gone in and taken about four strides. It was too dark to go in any further, and he stayed near the doors, fully aware of the freaks that were lying in wait in the stock rooms. He’d stood there breathing and staring at the things people used to impulse buy: candy, magazines, all the miscellaneous stuff in the dollar aisle. There’d been a mannequin close to the registers wearing surf shorts and a hoodie, and it’d reminded Alex of what TJ wore on his days off, and Alex had said without thinking, “Happy to see you’re okay.”

It’d been in English, as if the mannequin could actually hear him. He’d felt ridiculous and left the store, not caring how wet he got in the rain.

He had returned some weeks later, after he’d lost track of the days and months. He’d had a vague idea of going around the store, looking for watches or clocks that were still working, but in the end it didn’t really matter what the date was. Alex had given up on that, but stood near the mannequin long enough that eventually he’d blurted, “Should have asked you out. On a date.”

The mannequin had, of course, stayed still. Alex had glanced up at it and felt stupid again—its plastic face was nearly featureless, and it was surrounded by broken glass and fallen merchandise. He looked away at the floor, but kept the mannequin in his peripheral vision.

He stayed still, staring blankly at the doorway to a mall that was just as useless and messy as the Target he was in. He’d then looked at the one blank spot on the floor and thought about TJ; he’d thought about the way TJ had always smiled at him when he saw Alex, no matter how tired he was. He’d thought about TJ getting drunk and yelling in his face and Alex responding in kind, thought about those days they’d happily gotten shitfaced and loud enough that TJ’s neighbors complained. They’d shared beds on road trips, in hotels, in their apartments. TJ didn’t mind Alex’s snoring.

Alex had said to the mannequin, “Should have asked you out on a date. I wanted to. I knew you’re bi, like me.” His voice had been hoarse and crackly from not speaking for… weeks, months, something. “I thought maybe I’d be in trouble for asking out a coworker. Maybe that would make things difficult for you.” Alex had shuffled his feet awkwardly, and felt his heart rate speed up as if he was going through with the confession for real. “But. Then I was fired, because I wanted to protect you. It was my fault, everything I did, I could have gotten away with it but you would be fired.”

A bird had flown through the store, and Alex had followed its path with his gaze until it disappeared into the hallway of the mall. “I didn’t tell you why I got fired. I was embarrassed. Layoffs were happening, so I let you think I was a normal layoff.”

His palms had sweated a little, and he’d rubbed them against his dirty jeans _. I should find the men’s clothes and change into something clean,_ he’d thought idly. TJ’s shower was always so full of different shampoos, and one time, Alex had a few too many drinks and spent half of his time in TJ’s shower smelling each shampoo. _TJ smells like this_ , he thought to himself fuzzily, drunkenly. It took him so long that TJ yelled at him through the door to make sure Alex didn’t drown.

“I wanted you.” Alex had finally looked directly at the mannequin, but in his mind, he’d been seeing his best friend. “I liked you. I loved you, wanted you. Was in love with you,” Alex had murmured. “But I didn’t tell you. I was scared. You were my best friend.”

The sun had been descending, and he’d known he should get going soon. “I’m sorry. I was so stupid.” He’d looked at the mannequin’s chest and remembered what it felt like when TJ wrestled with him, what it felt like when TJ clung to his arm as they wailed along to classic rock at karaoke. “I miss you.” He remembered how TJ got up on his toes sometimes to hug Alex, his breath smelling like beer as it washed warmly across Alex’s face. Alex always wanted to bite gently on TJ’s neck when TJ did that. He wanted to see if TJ would like it.

“I have to go,” Alex had announced, glancing at the setting sun. He picked his bag back up and turned back to the mannequin, opening his mouth to say goodbye, but the word wouldn’t come out. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to truly part with TJ.

“See you later,” he’d said instead. He’d turned to leave, and remembered TJ shouting across the bar, _later, babe._

 

 

 

**NOW**

Constructing the radio is a lot easier than Alex thought it would be.

Well, maybe that’s not the right way to put it. It isn’t unpleasant, but that’s not because of the radio; it’s mostly because Nicky’s mood is warm. Nicky still trembles his way into the basement every few hours, but at least he comes back upstairs and helps with the construction. They sit at their dining room table and work by the light of the sunny day outside. It seems like the radio is done, but they can’t find any signals, so they flip through the books some more, trying to figure out what they did wrong. The dusty pages smell like the library, and Alex misses the days of studying there. They should go back soon.

The peace lasts until Nicky throws up on the third morning of radio construction. He makes it to the sink, and it’s just water, but Alex’s gut churns anyway. “You’re not eating at _all_ ,” he says, unable to keep the accusatory note out of his voice.

Nicky stays still, gripping the edges of the sink. Alex feels the insane urge to lift up Nicky’s shirt to see if he’s lost any weight, but he knows that would be crossing a line. He doesn’t have that right, not yet, but he—fuck, he can’t keep his mouth shut. “I know you don’t want me to know what you do to stay in stage 1. Fine. But what you’re doing? Not enough anymore, Nicklas.”

He gets no response; Nicky is too busy clinging to the countertop and trying to ward off nausea. His fingers are discolored and the veins that used to be blue are now closer to a deep gray. “Why did it get suddenly worse after I kissed you?” Still no response, but Nicky starts shaking, the tremors a precursor to another episode. “God damn it, Lars,” Alex spits without really thinking.

At that, Nicky finally whirls around in surprise, staring Alex in the eyes. Alex stares back. “I saw your driver’s license. You know that. You used to trust me.” He knows he’s playing dirty and he doesn’t really care. “What about when you can’t go down the stairs? I can help, then.” He feels Nicky’s rage from across the room as his anger grows, but he presses on because Nicky’s life depends on it. “If downstairs you kill goats and burn candles and pray to Satan, I don’t care. If downstairs you have bottles of water from Fountain of Youth and drink it, I don’t care. If you eat dead freaks, I don’t care. If—”

Nicky abruptly stomps his foot on the ground. Alex stops yelling and watches Nicky tremble for a few eternally long seconds. By now, Alex can tell that Nicky’s in the beginning of another shaking episode.

Nicky needs to go to the basement, but instead of abandoning the argument, he reaches out in the afternoon light and grips Alex’s arm. He proceeds to drag Alex across the kitchen, leading him through the basement door and down the steps. Nicky locks the door behind them. From there, Nicky lights the basement flashlights, releases Alex’s arm, and slowly makes his way down the stairs.

Alex stares at Nicky’s back and then stumbles a little in his haste to follow. Nicky dragged him down here, Nicky must want him here, and Alex worries a little that the trembling will lead Nicky to trip and fall. Apparently Nicky’s practiced this, because he grips with both hands onto the railing and makes his way down slowly, methodical and calm even through the shaking.

Alex tries not to stare and instead looks around at the dusty furniture that the family that used to live here had probably stored there for a winter or two. There are boxes with labels like “Christmas Decorations” and “Old Halloween Costumes” and “Aunt Marianne’s Porcelain Doll Collection” that remind Alex of the lives that people used to live, where there were things like holidays and families.

When he finally gets to the bottom, he glances over at Nicky. Nicky’s flopped into a lounge chair and beside him on the table are bottles of pills, wrapped syringes, and other stuff Alex can’t identify. Nicky takes a few of the pills and washes them down with half a bottle of water, leaning back and then looking defiantly up at Alex. He’s shaking still, sweating through his shirt, and he looks like he’s waiting for Alex to try to fight with him.

“Pills keep you safe from stage 2,” Alex hazards, and Nicky nods reluctantly. “Where did you get the pills?”

Nicky ignores the question and once his shaking has abated, he leans over and starts preparing a syringe. He ties his arm off and Alex has seen this before but only on the Internet, only on TV, and it’s not the same because Nicky’s not using a lighter and a spoon. He gives himself a shot and Alex watches as Nicky’s body goes a little slacker, as the last of the episode fades, and Nicky carefully and properly packages up the used syringe in a disposal box.

“What— Nicky, what’s happening?” Alex asks, at a loss.

Nicky doesn’t ignore him this time, leaning to the side and clumsily gesturing like he’s writing in midair. Alex realizes that Nicky’s not shaking, but he might be exhausted or weakened by the shot. He gets up and clumsily searches some of the shelves, knocking things to the side until he comes up with some loose paper and a pencil. He hands them to Nicky.

It takes a few minutes for Nicky to be coordinated enough to put the paper on the short table and write something on it. When he’s done writing, he looks up at Alex. Alex immediately looks down at the paper where Nicky has been scribbling.

_I studied the disease. I chose the pills. I made the serum._

“How?” Alex asks and then instantly realizes that he doesn’t even know what he’s asking, much less what kind of answer he wants. He rephrases. “How do you know to make those?”

Nicky takes a deep breath in and out before writing. Alex looms over him, watching as each letter is formed.

_I was a doctor._

Alex blinks in confusion. “But you don’t know what G-spot is. You don’t know anything about sex. How can you be a doctor, you don’t know what a boner—hey!” Nicky’s silent laughter is infectious and Alex laughs even as he scolds Nicky. “You lied to me, you asshole!”

Nicky keeps smiling but does question eyebrows and mouths “ _asshole_ ” as if he doesn’t know the word. Alex wants to wrestle with him and maybe bite him a little but restrains himself because Nicky’s still weak, and instead just ruffles Nicky’s hair. “You dick, I believed you!”

There’s a pause and Nicky’s smile fades, looking back down at the _I was a doctor_ on the page. Alex digests the information, thinking about Nicky coming into a room wearing a white coat and asking Alex what hurt. He’d be a good doctor. He’s patient and calm and doesn’t tend to panic. He’s smart, too, he’d have to be to be able to survive this long, and—

“Did you find a cure?” Alex asks, eyes widening.

Nicky’s face contorts into something ugly, and Alex recognizes it from when he used to stare at the mirror when he was unemployed: self-loathing. It’s not a surprise when Nicky silently shakes his head.

“But you found a way to slow it down,” Alex guesses, and Nicky nods.

Alex isn’t sure what Nicky’s baggage is, but he figures directly asking will get him nowhere. Instead, he starts dusting off an armchair that must’ve been put down here for storage. It’s beat-up, but at least he won’t be staring down at Nicky anymore. “Man. You’re a good guy. This isn’t _purgatory_ , not if you’re here.” He says the word _purgatory_ in Russian again. He keeps forgetting to look it up.

Nicky watches Alex from where he’s sitting a few steps away, picking up the pencil and then putting it down several times before visibly steeling himself and writing on the notepad. When he holds it up, it shakes; his hands are trembling.

_I abandoned my patients when the outbreak got bad. I am not a good guy._

“What?” Alex blurts before thinking it through. “You wanted to live. Of course you left your patients.”

Nicky glares at him and then points to the page at _I was a doctor_. He underlines “doctor” twice.

“So what?” Alex is angry on behalf of past-Nicky, defending him to current Nicky. It’s an odd feeling. “They were trying to kill you.” He doesn’t know that for sure, but that’s what freaks do—they try to eat the uninfected. “You didn’t have a choice.”

Nicky falters and puts the notepad down on his lap. Alex can hear the cat moving around somewhere else in the musty basement but he can’t take his eyes off Nicky, who’s started writing again. It takes him a long time, and Alex remains as quiet as he can; now that he’s got Nicky opening up, like hell would he ever do anything that would startle Nicky out of his sudden honesty.

When Nicky holds up the page again, it’s too long of a message for Alex to read from a distance. He gently takes the notepad and looks down.

_I go to the hospital to get the medications I need. The hospital is full of ghosts. They’re dying. They suffer when they die. The shots I give myself have a lot of chemicals, but one of the chemicals is toxic if it’s alone._

That’s all Nicky’s written. Alex doesn’t understand. “What do you mean, toxic?”

Nicky holds one hand in a fist and rests it on his chest, where Alex guesses the heart is. The fist taps against the heart rhythmically, _ba-bum, ba-bum_ , and Alex glances up at Nicky’s face. “Your heart, it’s beating,” Alex says, and Nicky nods. Then, he slows the beat down. After a few slow beats, his fist goes entirely still.

This still isn’t making sense. Alex looks down at the letter. “But you don’t die because it’s just one part of the shots.”

Very reluctantly, Nicky nods. Alex skims the first few sentences, because Nicky wouldn’t have bothered to write them unless they were important. “You believe in ghosts?” Alex asks. He believes in ghosts, but didn’t think a doctor would.

Nicky shakes his head and then touches his hairline to drag his fingers across his face. “Oh, freaks,” Alex says, and Nicky’s face stiffens a little like it always does when Alex drops the F-bomb. He’s too distracted to apologize, though, because he’s staring at the letter again.

He tries to fit the puzzle pieces together, because there’s something Nicky’s still not saying. The hospital is full of dying freaks. There’s a compound in Nicky’s shots, that Nicky makes, that gives the freaks a fast and painless death. Nicky is deeply ashamed of something he’s done. Nicky says he’s a bad person, even though he’s a doctor. Nicky calls them _ghosts_ , not _freaks_ , and Nicky notices their suffering, and Nicky occasionally calls himself a freak. Nicky has medical knowledge, and Nicky —

“Oh, Nicky,” Alex says softly, and watches as Nicky’s face crumples. He bows his head, trying to hide his face from Alex, and Alex drops the notepad and shuffles over, kneeling in front of Nicky’s chair. “You do a good thing. They’re in pain, they’re suffering.”

Nicky’s not fully crying, but his eyes are rimmed in gray as he flops forward into Alex’s arms. This time, Alex is pretty sure the shaking isn’t from an episode; Nicky’s just tired, sick, emotional, and going through a lot.

“Let’s take a nap,” Alex suggests suddenly, rubbing Nicky’s sweaty, smelly back through his shirt. “The radio can wait.”

Normally, he’s pretty sure Nicky would argue, but at the moment neither of them has it in them. Alex pulls back just enough to help Nicky out of the chair and they go back upstairs, and the entire time, Alex keeps a hand on Nicky’s back. He only releases him in order to shut and block the doors.

The study is completely dark when Alex finally lays down beside Nicky on the mattress. He curls tightly around Nicky’s side, pressing his face against Nicky’s ear. “You’re a good man,” he says, knowing that Nicky’s probably getting a strong whiff of the canned ravioli that Alex last ate, but Nicky doesn’t seem to care. He twists around until he’s grasping Alex back, nuzzling his still-smooth cheek against Alex’s neck.

The movement brings up memories of TJ and Alex’s stomach drops a little, an invisible cord tightening around his heart. “No matter what, I love you. I want you to live.” Saying it out loud like that is somehow deeply vulnerable, even though they both already know how Alex feels. “I can’t lose you.” Fuck, in the dark, Nicky’s haircut reminds Alex of TJ, too.

He pushes those thoughts aside and rubs idly at Nicky’s back, waiting to close his eyes until he’s sure Nicky’s fast asleep.

 

 

 

**AFTER THE OUTBREAK:**

Alex had found TJ’s Jeep about three months after the outbreak.

He hadn’t been looking for it. He’d just found it, sitting in the middle of the street while Alex had been scavenging for snacks a block away. The car wasn’t smashed or bloody or anything. It almost seemed like there was no reason for it to be in the middle of the street, other than the fact that nothing really had a reason anymore.

He’d stood still beside that Jeep until the sky had threatened to rain, pulsing thunder as a warning that soon the clouds would darken the sun and freaks would come out to hunt. Alex had rested his hand against the door handle, because it was in that Jeep that TJ had come out to him, and Alex had immediately followed suit. They may not have been friends before that, but they were, after.

Alex had wondered, then. He’d wondered if TJ had turned into a freak while just sitting in the front seat, or if TJ had fled the car because of something around him. He wondered if TJ had gotten out to save someone else. He’d thought so long that the sky had opened and dumped rain on him, and eventually he’d just left the Jeep exactly as he found it.

A few days later, he went looking for the Jeep again with a half-formed idea to take it and use it as his own. He hadn’t been able to find it, though. He’d assumed that he’d mistaken its location, and kept his eyes peeled.

He had never seen it again.

 

 

 

**NOW**

Alex wakes up from his nap abruptly, startled by something. He turns his head quickly to follow whatever sound woke him, and scrambles to sit up when he hears it again. “Nicky,” he gasps hoarsely.

Apparently Nicky’s already heard it, too, because Nicky’s turning the light on before Alex can ask for it. They both face the door to the study and listen.

_“—name is Devante, and any survivors listening are invited to the Eagle’s Nest house. We have food, shelter, and medical assistance. This message will repeat every hour on the hour. We are located at—”_

“The radio,” Alex realizes out loud, heartbeat thundering in his chest. Nicky’s already scrambling to take notes, and Alex opens up the door so they can hear the speaker more clearly.

_There are others_ , Alex thinks, overwhelmed. He hugs Nicky from behind.

 


	6. Eagle's Nest

#  SIX. ALEX.

 

**NOW**

The next few days are spent listening to the radio, taking copious amounts of notes, and covertly checking Nicky’s irises when he thinks Nicky might not notice.

According to the voices on the radio, there’s a camp (a house? Alex isn’t sure) set up outside the city, and they welcome new people, and they have food and medicine. The voices call the freaks “the infected” and say that most of the infected have died from starvation. One of the people on the radio persistently calls LV2 “Lava” even when admonished by another survivor. The directions to the Eagle’s Nest are repeated in several languages, and when a deep voice comes on and relays the message in Russian, Alex hides his watery eyes from Nicky.

Nicky, for his part, starts staying in the basement for most of the day. Now that Alex can go down and join him, Nicky seems to have little desire to deal with the stairs. He’s listless and tired and Alex hates it. Watching Nicky tie off his own arm is somehow alright, but when Nicky needs to silently teach Alex to administer his shots and pills and tie off his arm and make sure Nicky doesn’t fall into stage 2 every hour, it stops being alright. Alex pretends it’s fine, though, fully aware that Nicky didn’t want Alex to ever know about any of this, and desperately not wanting to prove past-Nicky correct about Alex’s disgust with his treatments.

The cat hasn’t given birth yet. She keeps Nicky company in the basement, and Alex calls her Mama. “Is Mama hungry?” Alex asks at lunchtime a couple days after they first heard the radio broadcast. He’s carrying a can of tuna and some canned vegetables and fruits for Nicky.

Nicky is sitting on the floor, a road map spread in front of him. On it are marker scribbles where the roads have broken down so severely that they’re impassable by vehicle, and the pencil marks seem to show the route that they’ll take to get to the survivors’ house, once they’re ready. They’ve entirely given up building a better life here in favor of preparing for the trip, gathering supplies and intel.

Mama is not hungry. She turns her nose up at the tuna and goes to settle down in her little nest that she made between a few boxes. Nicky holds his hands out and Alex gives him the tuna and a clean spoon. “How is the plan?” Alex asks, settling down and examining the map.

Nicky has to put his food down to talk. He sets it gently on an area of the map where there are no markings and then holds out his hands, flexing them a little before starting to gesture. His joints are stiff, and Alex pretends he doesn’t notice. Nicky points at a blue dot. “Our home,” Alex says, and Nicky nods. He traces the pencil line with his finger all the way to the edge of the map, and then leans over and pulls a road atlas closer. It’s not as detailed as the fold-out map, but it’s not like they can call up fucking Mapquest for help, so it’ll do. Nicky traces the pencil lines until he hits a green star. “The house, the camp.” Nicky nods again. “How long of a drive?”

At this, Nicky’s certainty falters. He pushes his hair behind his ears and holds his fingers a small distance apart on the map, then looks at Alex expectantly. “One hour,” Alex guesses, and Nicky nods. Then, he starts moving his fingers, step by step, and Alex keeps count. “Two, three, four, five, six,” he says, and that’s where it stops at the green star. “Six hours drive,” Alex says, elated. “No problem. Get up early, no problem.”

Nicky does not seem appropriately thrilled. He picks at his can of tuna again and avoids eye contact, looking down at the map. “Nicky, look at me,” Alex requests softly and Nicky immediately complies.

His irises are still green rimmed with deep blue, framing black pupils that are wide in the dimness of the basement. He’s not hiding red irises, so he must be hiding something else. “What’s wrong?” Alex asks softly, wanting to shift around to cuddle with Nicky but refraining.

Nicky puts down the tuna and touches his chest, then drags his fingers down from his hairline. “No, you—” Alex starts irritably. Nicky raises an eyebrow, holding a hand out flat. Alex knows when he’s being told to shut up, so he presses his lips together, cowed. Nicky touches the green star and then shapes his fingers into a gun and shoots himself in the head.

Bile rises a little bit in Alex’s esophagus and he pretends not to be nauseated beyond belief. “No, they won’t. You’re not a freak.”

Nicky’s face twists a little bit and he touches the edges of his eyes, and his blank left cheek. Then, he holds out his left arm and touches the ring of bruising that decorates where he usually ties his arm off, visible through his worn-out shirt. Alex can’t stop frowning. “They—okay, I go in first. Then tell them that you’re not a freak, and you come after me. I’ll tell them that you aren’t dangerous.”

Nicky falters. He touches his chest, presses his fingers in an L shape on his heart and points at Alex. He touches the green star and uses his fake gun to shoot himself again. Finally, he touches his chest and then runs his index finger over the blue dot.

“You’re not staying home, don’t be stupid,” Alex says gruffly. “I’m not staying home. Both of us are going. I keep you safe, always, right?”

Nicky frowns, but Alex persists. “I tie your arm, I give you shots, I give you pills, I keep us safe. We’re together, always, unless you don’t love me anymore.” He pretends that even merely _suggesting_ that possibility doesn’t make him feel ill. “Do you love me?”

The answer, to his relief, is an immediate nod.

“Then we’re going together.” He gives in to temptation and scoots sideways, settling down on the floor by Nicky and wrapping an arm around his back. “I can tell them you’re okay. Then you can come in. They won’t hurt you, I won’t let them. If they try to hurt you, we leave and come back here.”

He expects Nicky to immediately protest; after all, in practical terms, Alex is totally screwed over by this plan. If he comes back here, he’ll be giving up all chance at a better life just to keep Nicky with him. Alex is prepared to argue on his own behalf, but Nicky doesn’t rise to the challenge. The sneaking suspicion in the back of Alex’s mind abruptly turns into a full-fledged certainty: that Nicky isn’t arguing because he’s afraid he’s leaving stage 1. Even if they came back here, Nicky would only last a little while before—

“Tomorrow,” Alex says, loudly enough to drown out the dumb voices in the back of his head that aren’t helping _anyone_. “We go tomorrow morning. Early. We have directions, we have food, we have radio. We go tomorrow.”

Nicky smiles and turns his head. He points at the corner of the room where Mama is nestled between boxes and holds an invisible steering wheel before doing question eyebrows.

“Of course we bring Mama,” Alex says, kissing Nicky’s cheek briefly. “Road trip for whole family.”

 

 

 

**AFTER THE OUTBREAK:**

Alex had occasionally seen signs of uninfected life after the outbreak. He had seen newspaper vending machines that had been broken into; freaks didn’t read newspapers. He had helped himself to a copy of the paper, the last one that had been distributed before all the checkpoints permanently closed. From the newspaper, he gathered that most countries had closed their ports of entry to the point where it was difficult to get anywhere via land, air, or sea. The paper had been full of predictions from the Bible, declarations that it was end times, theories about how God had decided mankind must be wiped out.

Alex had rolled his eyes so many times that his eye sockets got sore. As if there weren’t any islands. As if there weren’t any people living so remotely in rural nowhere that they were still unaware what was happening. Back in Russia, they had dozens of islands, dozens of those remote places, and sure, Alex didn’t know their names, but that was the _point_. There are places like that all over the world, and people live in them. Some places never even had electricity to begin with, and wouldn’t notice any of this for months.

After that, he’d never found another way to get the news. Even before electricity had entirely departed the city, there’d been nothing on TV but static. He’d lost his curiosity after that.

**NOW**

They get up almost painfully early the next day. Alex has barely slept and when he finally figures it’s morning, he shakes Nicky’s shoulder. “Road trip!” he shouts happily.

Nicky, for once, doesn’t have an episode after waking up. Instead, he just stretches out and gets up, twisting his body as much as he can. His stiff joints alarm Alex but there’s nothing he can do about it, so he just focuses on Nicky’s lack of tremors. It bodes well for the trip. “We eat and then go. Well, we eat and get Mama and then go.”

He gets a nod in response and quickly starts packing up as much of their stuff as he can. The radio, the radio books, the dictionaries, the little portable DVD player. He goes to the kitchen and packs the maps, cans of tuna for Mama, and cans of food for Alex and Nicky.

He puts it all in the car with the fullest gas tank Nicky could find (Nicky had curled his fingers into an O-shape and then inhaled strongly from the edge of his hand, making a loud sucking noise from his lips, and Alex had nearly whited out until he realized Nicky was offering to siphon gas from another car, that’s all, and he’d strongly rejected the offer, hoarsely emphasizing that a half-full gas tank was _plenty, Nicky_ , before locking himself in their study alone for a little while) and comes back inside, lingering in the kitchen when he sees Nicky still diligently working on breakfast.

Alex has been in and out so frequently that he knows Nicky hasn’t had an episode yet this morning, and it’s making his chest feel unbearably light. “I packed it all,” he announces, and Nicky applauds, smiling at Alex briefly before going back to food preparation. It’s some kind of cold cereal thing that probably tastes like wet cardboard, but that’s what they get for focusing on having fun movie nights instead of learning the ins and outs of grills or whatever. Alex couldn’t be bothered. “Last thing left is for you to pack your medicine and stuff, because I don’t know what you need.”

Nicky nods and turns, presenting Alex with a bowl of cereal mixed with water, cinnamon sprinkled on top, and a side of canned pineapple. “Wow, so fancy,” Alex says, and it’s strange but he means it. Their food sucks but Nicky prepared this with love. He takes the bowl and smiles down at it before looking up and leaning in to give Nicky a cheek kiss, because at least Nicky likes cheek kisses, and then—

Alex’s blood turns to ice. The only reason he doesn’t drop the bowl is because his whole body has gone rigid. It’s there now—a red iris, on Nicky’s right eye.

He’d thought the lack of episodes was good, that it meant Nicky was getting better, but it probably meant that part of his body had stopped fighting the infection. Either the drugs Nicky was taking have stopped working, or LV2 mutated. Maybe Nicky’s been too stressed out and his body is weak. No matter the reason, blind panic won’t fix it. Alex struggles to keep thinking rationally.

Nicky stares back in horror, and slaps Alex’s shoulder. “Uh,” Alex says without thinking. Nicky points at his own eyes and looks at Alex imploringly.

Alex could lie, but it would be a huge waste of time. “Yeah. Just the right eye. Your left.”

Nicky exhales roughly and Alex can see the entire next half hour in his mind’s eye: Nicky will order Alex to leave, Alex will refuse, Nicky will start losing his mind, Alex will refuse to leave him, Nicky will either die or fully enter stage 2, and Alex will have to leave him, and he doesn’t want to do any of that. He puts the food down and cups Nicky’s cheeks with both hands. “How much time you have, baby?” he demands, keeping his voice calm. “How many days?”

Nicky shakes his head, and Alex swallows. “How many hours?”

At first, Nicky holds up six fingers, and then hesitates and holds up all ten. “Okay,” Alex says. “We go now.”

Maybe it’s Alex’s tone, maybe it’s a sense of futility, or maybe Nicky’s plain given up, but he doesn’t argue. Alex drags Nicky out to the car and firmly presses him into the passenger seat, and before joining him, he heads back into the house one last time. He goes downstairs and glances at the drugs strewn around in the basement. He has a passing thought of trying to find something that will relieve Nicky’s pain, or sedate him, but Nicky’s got a red iris and there’s just no time. He picks Mama up and ignores her indignant yowling, wrapping her in a blanket so she can’t scratch him up.

He makes it outside without bothering to close doors behind him. If the freaks smell them and find their house, it doesn’t matter if they lie in wait hoping for Alex to return. Nicky’s got a red iris; no matter what, Alex isn’t returning to that house. He puts Mama in the backseat and climbs into the driver’s seat, looking in slight dismay at the stormy, foreboding sky ahead of them and twisting around to get the map. He shoves the first map at Nicky, who is squinting against what little light is penetrating the clouds.

“We go now,” Alex repeats. “What way?” He twists the keys in the ignition.

Nicky puts the sun visor down and peers at the map, then up at the street signs by them. Alex inhales to suggest just finding north, but the clouds have blocked out the sun, and Alex can’t follow cardinal directions anyway. Eventually, when Nicky puts a hand out flat pointing forward, and then tilts it so his fingers point left, Alex just trusts him. He’s got the map, after all.

 

**ALEX USED TO:**

Alex was among the first wave of people tested. It started as an optional process when checkpoints were still very new. The clinics were set up in school gyms, community centers, and churches, and after testing positive for Immunity Type 1 or Immunity Type 2, a certificate would be issued that a person could show the guards at the checkpoints. _It is free and it will make life easier_ , they said.

He was unemployed, so he showed up on one of the first days testing was offered. He’d rather go on a weekday than wait until the weekend; no doubt it would be swamped. He got his certificate and went home.

That had been good enough for less than two weeks. The certificates were being forged at exceedingly high rates, and the government eventually instituted a new policy of facial tattoos. Alex liked his face, but he also liked leaving home and traveling through the city, so he got the X tattooed on his cheek. The government provided the ink, which changed color under a special light.

“Can it come off? After the disease is cured?” Alex asked the uniformed agent that had tattooed him.

In response, the agent snorted. “Dream big. Next!” and Alex had been gently pushed aside by the next person in line.

 _Dream big_ , he thought, frowning. _What was that supposed to mean?_

 

 

 

**NOW**

The drive seems like it lasts forever.

Alex’s attention is split three ways: a third of him is paying attention to the road, a third of him is staring warily at the storm clouds above, and the last third of him is trying to keep Nicky awake and present. It’s hard to have conversations with Nicky when he’s driving, and Nicky seems to be dropping in and out of sleep. Alex doesn’t know if that will help or harm the infection, and privately, he doesn’t like it when Nicky’s eyes are closed for too long. He’s afraid of what he’ll see when they re-open.

They stop the car a couple times to pee (Alex) and throw up (Nicky) but never turn off the engine. The road winds on and on and Alex hates himself for wasting so much time since meeting Nicky—he should have really applied himself to the radio book, should have gotten this all going so much faster than he did. If he’d been more disciplined and focused and spent less time trying to enjoy life, they’d have been at that camp weeks ago and Nicky would be safe.

Alex had wasted so much time, but he’d wanted to be happy. He’d wanted to have fun and be in love, he’d wanted to let his heart fill with joy even though his life had burned down around him. He’d wanted to build something beautiful with a person he loved, and maybe it made him foolish and stupid, but he’d wanted to forget for just a while that the world had turned to ash.

In the end, he could have worked harder in the library with Nicky, could have spent less time telling movie stories to Nicky or golfing or joking around. He could have spent that time working on the radio instead. He could have, and should have, but neither of them had known that they had a time limit.

Alex tightens his hands around the wheel. “Nicky,” he murmurs.

Nicky reaches out and rests a hand on Alex’s thigh, gently squeezing twice.

“I’m sorry I didn’t focus on fixing the radio. It… probably was bad for us.” He can see rain falling in the distance, the edge of a cloud smudged as if someone had swiped a paintbrush across it. “It’s my fault we’re late.”

Nicky squeezes once.

Alex isn’t done. “I know you say ‘no’ but it’s true. If we did less movie nights, then we’d have radio sooner. But I love the movie nights.” The gray of the sky reminds Alex a little of Nicky’s eyes. Well. His eye. “When I was alone, I didn’t smile. I didn’t like anything.” Nicky’s thumb is stroking Alex’s thigh, a kind of tiny soothing gesture that might not even be a conscious effort. “But when I’m with you, I forget that everything is over, my life is over. With you, it’s.” He swallows thickly and eases up on the gas pedal; they’d been going a solid 80 miles an hour and if they crash, nobody’ll be there to help. “It’s good. Without you it’s shit.”

Nicky reaches over and cups Alex’s cheek briefly. When Alex glances over, he can only look at Nicky’s face for a moment before turning back to the road. The entire area around Nicky’s eyes is gray, meaning he’s probably crying, silent and sincere. “So stop falling asleep,” Alex concludes, voice raspy and tight. “Stay holding on, just few more hours.”

He knows that on any other day, Nicky would roll his eyes and come up with a dozen brilliant but straightforward hand gestures that would say: _you don’t know they’ll even have a cure, moron_. Today, though, Nicky makes no such gesture. For some reason, that makes it just a little bit worse.

 

 

 

**AFTER THE OUTBREAK:**

The first time Nicky had gotten snarky with Alex had been less than a week after they met. Alex had insisted Nicky cover up his ridiculously pale skin with sunscreen before they started the walk to the library; the day had been particularly sunny and Alex had genuinely worried Nicky would get blisters.

“Don’t want to get hurt,” Alex had said, tone genuine. Nicky had genuinely sneered at Alex and then tapped his wrist before pointing at his veins. _Too late_ , he’d meant, and the rudeness had been so genuinely unexpected that Alex had laughed out loud. Surprised, Nicky had smiled too. After that, he hadn’t tried so hard to impress Alex or keep a lid on his occasionally dark jokes.

Alex had known then that he liked Nicky. He’d like Nicky even if the world hadn’t ended. He’d thought about it for about five minutes and concluded that even if they met at a Starbucks full of busy people, he would still like Nicky. He’d told him so, and Nicky’s face had turned red. Alex had almost made a joke about Nicky’s skin turning sunburn color, but had held it back at the last moment. He liked seeing Nicky blush. He liked being the cause of Nicky looking so shy but proud.

That had probably been when he’d fallen in love with Nicky for the first time, but since then, there’d been thousands more.

 

 

 

**NOW**

Close to what will hopefully be the end of the trip, it starts raining. Alex has to raise his voice to keep talking over the sound of the fat drops hitting the windshield, but he can’t shut up, because something in him is certain that if he shuts up, Nicky will fall asleep and his other iris will turn red, too. “But Andy is going to college, he doesn’t want to take Woody with him. The little girl promises she take care of Woody, and she and Andy play with Woody and Buzz and—Nicky, are you awake?”

Nicky squeezes twice on Alex’s thigh, and Alex is so tense that that doesn’t even calm him. Nicky stretches his free arm over the dashboard and holds it angled to the right, and Alex obediently turns, slowing down a little on the slick streets. Then, Nicky quickly angles his hand to the left and Alex turns again.

They’ve been far out of the city for a while now, passing intermittent forests and fields. They’ve ended up on a road that leads to seemingly nowhere, and Alex can’t draw any conclusions from that. At this point, he knows that nothing will be the same ever again, and he’s got to just surrender to fate. Either they’ve made a wrong turn or they haven’t. Either they’re going to die or they won’t. The night is falling faster by the second, and hopefully the freaks haven’t expanded their hunting into the woods; now that the freaks are slower than ever before, they probably don’t have a prayer of catching anything, but that doesn’t mean they wouldn’t try.

His mental cartwheels stop when he sees a light in the distance, and sure enough, as they get closer, the light gets brighter. Nicky pats Alex’s thigh a couple times and Alex realizes he’s been bearing down on the accelerator again and forcibly relaxes his ankle. He almost apologizes but can’t find his voice, and Nicky doesn’t really need him to be sorry, anyway.

It’s not raining here, and the car goes quiet.

The Eagle’s Nest is, apparently, a house. It’s a large farmhouse surrounded by a big overgrown yard and a somewhat rusty chain link fence, and all around it are open grassy fields. There aren’t any guards that Alex can see, and that alarms him a little. The house is lit up from inside using electricity and Alex can hear the roar of some generators, probably kept outdoors with cables going inside. He turns off the engine and sits still, staring up at the house. The property is lit with porch lights, including the area around the fence; anyone inside will definitely have seen the car by now, if they hadn’t heard it in the first place.

Nicky opens his door but instead of getting out, he just leans over and throws up onto the grass. It’s a good reminder that Alex can’t just sit around being paralyzed by fear, so he squares his shoulders. “You stay here. I take Mama inside, say hello, explain about you. Okay?”

While still retching, Nicky’s left hand fumbles around until it’s in a thumbs-up. He heaves some more and Alex climbs out of the car, gets Mama and her blanket, and gingerly approaches the Eagle’s Nest.

A woman comes out of the house before Alex gets to the fence. He’s grateful; he doesn’t know how to knock on a fence. “Hey,” she says warmly. She’s got an X on her cheek and her hair is wet. _A shower?_ Alex thinks, and it’s the most bizarre concept that he’s ever dreamed up with in his life. “You a survivor?”

“Yeah,” he says, and stares at her, shell-shocked. It’s strange to hear a human voice coming from right in front of him. “Heard… heard on radio.”

She gets to the fence and opens the gate, which isn’t even latched. Again, Alex doesn’t understand why there are no guards, no floodlights, or at least working locks, but he’s not really in a position to be shopping around for a gated community so he keeps his concerns to himself. “Welcome,” the woman says, “I’m Sasha, and this is the Eagle’s Nest.” She gestures at the house and rolls her eyes. “I didn’t name it, but I didn’t get here until like a month ago, either, so I go with the flow.”

“I’m Sasha too,” Alex says, although nobody has called him that in years. Nicky just calls him Alex, or—actually. Actually, Nicky doesn’t call Alex anything, because the only one he talks to is Alex. Alex realizes with a jolt that he doesn’t call Nicky much of anything either, other than _baby_ when his feelings are too big to contain in his heart. “I mean, Alexander, but in Russia, that’s my nickname.”

“Fantastic, Geno’s gonna be thrilled.” Sasha doesn’t explain who Geno is, but Alex remembers that he heard Russian on the radio. “And who are you?” she asks in a somewhat higher-pitched voice, looking down at Mama adoringly.

“This is Mama,” Alex says, and then realizes he sounds insane. “I mean, not my mama. I just named her Mama. She’s really pregnant.” He moves the blanket to the side a little to show her tummy. Mama tries to make a break for it, but Alex is a tank that is not letting go of a housecat, no matter how pissed off that housecat is. “She’s first animal we can catch, she needs to be safe.”

“‘We’?” Sasha asks, and looks over at the car. It’s too dark to really see, and she squints.

Alex’s heart speeds up and he hates that they’re working with limited time, because he needs to make them understand that Nicky’s not dangerous. He collects his thoughts and asks tensely, “Can I come in? I can explain.”

Sasha’s smile fades at Alex’s weighted tone, replaced by a look of concern. “Yeah, okay.” She steps aside so he can come in the gate. She closes it behind him, not bothering to latch it shut, and heads up the short hill toward the house.

Alex follows her up the front steps that lead onto a porch that has a swing and some lounge chairs, and Alex drinks in the signs of recent uninfected activity: blankets strewn about but not dusty, half-full glasses of water that haven’t clouded over, a portable CD player hooked up to small speakers, a pristine hardcover book with a bookmark pressed between pages. Signs of people not only surviving, but _living_ —people lounging around, reading books, listening to music.

The front door isn’t locked, which seems ludicrous to Alex, but he reminds himself that everyone here has been here longer than him. They all know more than he does, and he should shut up and try to learn so he can figure out if Nicky can come in or not.

The foyer is empty except for shoes. Three doors lead out from it, but one of them is half-covered in plywood that’s been permanently nailed to the frame. The other two are labeled: EAGLE’S NEST is on one door, and VIP LOUNGE is on the other. Electricity floods the foyer from the lightbulb in the ceiling to the fan blowing cool air from outside towards the inside. There’s a little table with several items on it, and Sasha picks up a light of a variety Alex hasn’t seen in over a year: the lights that sector patrols used to use to check the authenticity of the facial tattoos.

He finds his voice in time to say, “Authentic. From government. Type 2.”

“I believe you, but I have to check anyway.” She turns it on and waves it briefly at Alex’s face and then turns it off. “Welcome to the house, Alexander,” she says warmly, opening the door labeled EAGLE’S NEST.

Alex stays where he is. “What… happens, if people are infected and come here?” he asks carefully.

Sasha closes the door gently and glances at the window toward where Alex parked. She looks back at him. “You mean, if you brought a patient here?”

 _Patient_ , Alex thinks, _that’s what I should have called them to Nicky_. “Yeah. Someone infected.” He hurries up to clarify, wanting to shut down the suspicions before they start. “But he’s not crazy yet. He can still think, he’s okay in his head. He’s in stage 1, he had a medicine—”

Sasha’s eyes light up in understanding and she opens up the door labeled VIP LOUNGE. “Devante!” she calls, and within a few seconds there are footsteps up to the door. A man with an X on his cheek appears wearing a stethoscope, carrying a clipboard, and wearing rubber surgical gloves; Alex assumes this is Devante. “This guy’s new and he’s got a patient with him,” Sasha explains, suddenly speaking and moving a lot faster.

Alex realizes that she’s trying to hurry because she knows now that it’s important that Nicky get help fast, and it’s so considerate he worries he might cry. The guy looks at Alex and immediately launches into rapid-fire questions, like _has the patient attacked anyone_ and _can he speak_ and _is it just one red iris?_ Alex answers as best he can, and doesn’t even notice that Sasha is gone until he hears the front door slam.

“She’s just gone to get him,” Devante says, and he must notice the look on Alex’s face because he reaches out and touches Alex’s shoulder in a soothing way. “We won’t hurt him. I’m a doctor, I can help take care of him. Here, let me just…”

Alex realizes after a moment that Devante’s trying to take Mama. It’s a good call; Alex is trembling and probably looks like he might drop her. He lets Devante take her and then goes back out the front door, breaking into a run across the damp grass when he sees that Sasha is talking to Nicky through the open car door.

“Nicky!” he yells. “It’s okay! Come in! They have a doctor and they won’t hurt you. Hurry!”

Nicky climbs out of the car, moving like his joints are stiff and painful.  Sasha leans over to look inside the car, pointing at the stuff in the backseat. “Do you need this right now?” she asks Nicky, and he shakes his head.

Alex finally arrives at Nicky’s side and rests a hand on the small of his trembling back. “They have doctor here, he says they do treatment. We can come in, we can be safe.”

Nicky steadies himself on Alex’s shoulder for just a moment before looking down and clumsily clawing at the pockets of Alex’s jeans. Under any other circumstances, that would probably be the greatest moment of Alex’s entire fucking life, but because of the way Nicky’s hands are shaking, it’s just confusing. “What you looking for?”

He doesn’t get an answer until Nicky finally finds what he wants and holds it up: the key to the car that Nicky had always made Alex carry in case he moved into stage 2. The key is worthless now, because that car was still back in the city, but Nicky cares enough to go rooting around in Alex’s pants for it, so it must still matter to him.

“Yeah, I still have key,” Alex says, absolutely mystified. “Why?”

Nicky’s lips tighten and he turns around and throws the key into the darkness. Alex suddenly gets it—Nicky’s asking Alex not to give up on him, to go back on his earlier promise that he’d flee at the first sign of stage 2. It makes Alex’s breath catch in his throat, the level of love that Nicky gives him, and he vows to never fuck it up. “I stay with you. I promise. Come on,” he says to Nicky, softer, less frantic. “We go now.”

Nicky nods and Alex gently grasps Nicky’s upper arm to keep him steady as they head up towards the house, moving slower this time. Sasha trails them and closes the gate when they’re finally through, and when they get inside, Alex steers Nicky right at the VIP Lounge. He knocks and Devante immediately opens the door. “Hi,” he says to Nicky, and then looks at Alex.

“Nicky,” Alex blurts, tense. “He’s Nicky.”

“Come in, Nicky,” Devante says, stepping aside. He doesn’t comment on it when Alex steps right in after Nicky.

They head down a flight of stairs before arriving at what looks like it used to be a finished basement. There are a couple infected people sleeping on the various beds that have been set up and Alex stares at them without meaning to. They’ve got the same veiny marks that Nicky has, but other than the whirring machines they’re hooked up to, they’re sleeping like normal people. They’re not shaking or anything.

“This is Braden,” Devante says to Alex. He sounds like he’s trying to calm a wounded lion, and Alex guesses he probably looks even more panicked and unhappy than Nicky does. Nicky’s too sick and too tired to worry about himself anymore, so Alex is worrying enough for two people. “He’s going to ask you some questions about where you and Nicky were living. I’ll ask Nicky yes or no questions about his specific medical history.”

Alex nods numbly. Another guy with an X on his cheek carrying a clipboard leads Alex to a couple of chairs in the corner of the room. He’s wearing a flannel shirt and jeans, not scrubs like Devante. Devante’s busy setting up some kind of IV and other equipment. He’s talking to Nicky as he does everything, explaining what he’s doing, and Alex abruptly blurts, “Nicky was a doctor.”

Both Devante and Nicky look at him. Nicky’s mouth is slightly upturned in a soft smile of gratitude, so Alex looks at Devante and keeps explaining. “I don’t know what kind of doctor, but he was a doctor. You can use long words and everything.”

Devante’s face lights up and he starts talking to Nicky again, but this time, it’s largely incomprehensible to Alex; it’s like when he was first learning English, and only recognized words like ‘with’ or ‘and’ or ‘you.’ Nicky alternates between nodding and shaking his head, his multicolored eyes absolutely focused on Devante’s face, and Alex feels hope crackling in his chest.

He exhales and turns to Braden, answering all his questions. By the time he’s done telling Braden literally everything he knows about Nicky’s environment and illness, his adrenaline has crashed and he’s exhausted. He’s tired like he’s never been tired before, and Nicky’s fast asleep, hooked up to a few machines that Alex can’t identify. Devante’s gone to bed for the night and Braden looks tired too.

“I can get you set up with a temporary bed,” Braden says. “Lots of cots upstairs. All the beds are doubles, so when Nicky wakes up, if you guys want to share you can upgrade.”

Alex absolutely loathes the idea of sleeping without Nicky, but he also hates the idea of bumping one of Nicky’s machines in the night and fucking up Nicky’s treatment. Braden seems to notice the hesitation and adds, “The VIP Lounge isn’t locked. You can come visit him whenever.” He pauses and adds, “We accept everyone, you know, love is love.”

 _The gay thing_ , Alex remembers. It’s been such a non-issue since the world ended that he’d forgotten entirely that people might have a problem with it. Fortunately, it looks like they don’t, because Braden is just looking tiredly at his watch. “Yeah, cot,” Alex says, and follows Braden up the stairs, through the doors and into the Eagle’s Nest.

The house has a winding staircase and a lot of small rooms, and Alex figures it’s probably pretty old. He follows Braden and feasts his senses on the evidence that people live there: hanging decorations, nametags on doors like in a college dorm, fresh food left out, the sound of a toilet flushing, lights on underneath doors. A working analog clock hangs on the wall and proclaims that the hour is 12:38 in the morning.

“You mind sharing a room? We have more people than rooms,” Braden asks quietly.

“It’s fine,” Alex answers, once again feeling touched by the consideration.

Braden opens a door at the end of the hallway and gestures inside. Two people are sleeping in there already, curled up in sleeping bags on cots. There’s a pile of blankets on another cot in the corner. “It’s not the Four Seasons, but it’s safe,” Braden says, as if he thinks Alex is going to demand room service or something.

“Thank you,” Alex says, and realizes he hasn’t been saying that enough. He’s been so deep in shock that he’s forgotten to thank everyone that’s saving him and Nicky. “Really,” he murmurs, “thank you.”

“Get some sleep,” Braden murmurs, and Alex immediately goes into the room and rolls out the blankets.

Contrary to what he expects, it takes him ages to fall asleep. He only finally drops off when he pretends that the man snoring across the room is Nicky, breathing deeply across the room in their house, sleeping on the bed.

 

 

 

**AFTER THE OUTBREAK:**

Alex had had lunch with Tammy one sunny day after she ran away from her job at Target and started her new job at the convenience store. He’d helped himself to some chips and salsa, leaning against the cash register and not looking directly at her featureless face. (It felt weird until he rationalized that if a volleyball with a bloody handprint on it could help keep Tom Hanks sane on an island by himself, then talking to a mannequin wasn’t odd at all.)

“I haven’t had girlfriend or boyfriend in ages,” he lamented to Tammy, mouth half-full.

 _Count yourself lucky,_ he’d imagined Tammy replying. _I can barely get my lazy-ass husband off the couch. Sometimes it feels like I’ve got five kids instead of four._

Alex had looked at Tammy in skepticism. “If you married, why no wedding ring?”

 _Because all four of my fingers are fused together since I’m a mannequin_ , Tammy had explained.

“Oh. That makes sense.” Alex thought about what she’d said. “He’s not helpful? Supportive?”

 _Oh, he’s supportive, but when it comes to cleaning, all he does is watch from the bleachers._ Tammy had sounded annoyed in Alex’s head. _He thinks it’s a spectator sport._

“But you love him, right?” Alex asked, swatting at a fly that had flown in through the shattered windows, no doubt attracted to Alex’s spectacularly horrific scent.

 _I do, but I’d sure love it if he learned to load the dishwasher_ , Tammy had responded.

Alex pushed off the counter and went looking through the aisles until he found the wet wipes. “But if he loves you, why doesn’t he help?” he asked, wiping his face and arms in an effort to be less alluring to flies.

 _Like I said. He’s lazy_. Tammy had paused, then, and Alex looked back over at her. He’d given her a hat with a wide brim, and from certain angles, it disguised the blankness of her face. For a moment, she looked like a stylish woman in petites’ separates and a straw hat looking out the window, lost in thought. _But he understands me, y’know? Nobody else did before him_.

Alex had looked back out the window at the setting sun. A breeze passed into the broken windows and through the store, rustling everything in its path. “I get it,” he’d confessed to Tammy. “If I find someone who understands me, I do anything for them.”

 _You’ll find someone_ , Tammy’d said. She was always so supportive and optimistic. _Maybe they won’t be perfect, but you’ll find someone that understands you_. Alex had stayed silent and Tammy hurried to add, _I mean, another one. You’ll find another one that understands you_.

Alex pushed through the swinging door leading behind the cashier’s counter and started rifling through the drawers until he found a permanent marker. “I hope you’re right,” he’d said to Tammy.

 _I’m always right. My husband thinks so, too_ , Tammy had said happily.

Alex had uncapped the marker and gently taken her hand. They had both remained quiet as he drew a wedding ring on her plastic finger.

 

 

 

**NOW**

Alex’s confusion when he wakes up only lasts for about eight seconds. He’s proud of that fact, because he’s in an entirely new pile of blankets on an entirely new cot and Nicky’s nowhere to be found. He hauls himself up and stumbles down the hallway, down the stairs, through the VIP Lounge door and into the treatment center.

“Good morning,” Devante says, and before Alex can even get the words out, Devante smiles and holds out a hand in a ‘relax’ gesture. “He’s just fine. He’s asleep. He’ll be asleep for a while, but he’s alright.”

Alex takes a few steps over towards Nicky’s bed. He’s curled slightly onto his side, still hooked up to the machines. “Why?”

Devante keeps writing on a clipboard. “It’s easiest on him if we keep him sedated for the first stage of the treatment.” He pauses and admits, “Back in a hospital, he’d be awake and on a lot of drugs. Here, with what we have, it’ll hurt him less to keep him asleep. The first part of treatment hurts like hell. That’s why so many people fake their tattoos—it’s a thing, I guess, for some places not to give anesthesia during treatments. Braden and I keep them asleep. It’s the best we can do.”

“But they wake up,” Alex says, not really following any medical logic there.

“They wake up,” Devante answers firmly.

Alex remembers his late night promise to be more visibly grateful and he claps Devante on the shoulder. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Devante answers, and he starts to say something else but gets interrupted by Braden calling for him from across the room.

Alex wanders back up through the Eagle’s Nest door and explores the main floor a little. There’s a bathroom with an actual flushing toilet that he uses, and running water that he washes his hands with. It’s amazing. He looks longingly at the shower but keeps moving, stomach growling insistently. They must have a pantry somewhere.

The next door he opens is the entrance to a kitchen. It’s huge; two people are at the stove cooking something and four more are at a big kitchen table, flipping through an old magazine. Alex stands there, frozen.

“Oh, hey, New Guy,” says a guy at the stove. He looks friendly. “We heard about you from Sasha. You and your infected friend, and the cat.”

Alex stares at him for a little too long and then clears his throat. “Uh, yeah. Uh. My Nicky. I mean, his name is Nicky, my name is Alex.”

Someone at the table sits up straighter and hollers over at Alex in Russian. “Hey, you’re the Russian!” He gets up and Alex is impressed with his height. He’s wearing glasses and looks like he hasn’t slept in forty years. “Is Nicky Russian too?”

“No, no,” Alex answers, getting over himself and stepping closer. He stares at the eggs that the guys at the stove are cooking—he hasn’t had hot food in what feels like a thousand years. “He’s Swedish.”

“Swedish!” the Russian guy says in English. “Andre, you can finally make friend.” He smacks the butt of the friendly guy that’s flipping over some eggs.

“I have lot of friends, Zhenya,” says Andre, smiling happily despite getting mocked. He touches the arm of the other guy cooking. “Now, Jakub, peppers.”

Jakub adds the peppers and they make a sizzling sound as they hit the griddle. The smell wafts through the kitchen and Alex’s stomach growls painfully.

Zhenya watches Alex and then switches back to Russian, stepping forward and taking Alex’s arm. “The food will be ready soon, but you smell awful. You should shower.”

That sounds fantastic, but Alex didn’t exactly pack a change of clothes and a shower caddy while fleeing his house. “I don’t have—”

“Yeah, I know, c’mon,” Zhenya says, gently dragging Alex back upstairs and through the hallway.

He opens someone’s bedroom door without knocking and the occupant hastily pulls the covers up to his neck. “Geno!” the guy admonishes.

“Yeah, yeah. New guy needs clothes,” Zhenya says in English, leaning down to go through some drawers. He starts throwing things on the floor, not like he’s trying to be rude but like this is his bedroom and he thoughtlessly tosses stuff around here all the—

Oh, it’s a double bed. The guy that’s covered himself up to his chin is pink-cheeked. _Oh_. “Your boyfriend?” Alex asks in Russian, even though it’s absolutely none of his business.

Zhenya grins. “Nope. Fiancé,” he answers, and then gathers up all the clothes he’s tossed onto the floor in his arms. “Here. These will probably fit you alright. Try to shower fast, but clean everything. Use cold water.”

Alex nods and accepts the clothes. “Thank you,” he says, and Zhenya shrugs dismissively in response.

As Alex leaves the room, Zhenya gently closes the door behind him. Inside, Zhenya’s fiancé complains, “Oh my god, you have to _knock_ when you’re with people,” and it’s such a normal complaint, it’s like the Eagle’s Nest is one of those islands that Alex was sure could survive the outbreak. He loses track of time a little, standing there, listening to the extremely normal argument.

When he finally gets into the shower and starts washing himself, it takes him a while to get through all the grime and gunk sticking to his skin. The shower smells awful, not because there’s anything wrong with the water but because as the water hits Alex’s skin it dredges up all the stink that’s previously dried there. He follows Zhenya’s instructions, showering quickly but being thorough and keeping the knob dialed as cold as he can handle. He dries off and puts on some of the borrowed clothes, none of which match but at least fit him.

He makes his way back downstairs, stomach insisting that he eat before he goes to see Nicky again. There’s a terrifying moment when he thinks all the breakfast is gone, but then Andre yells out from the table, “It’s over here!”

Alex plops down in the last empty chair, between Jakub and Andre. A plate appears in front of him covered in scrambled eggs, peppers, mushrooms, sausage, and some kind of sauce that Alex doesn’t bother to identify. He takes a bite and moans, and Andre laughs at him. “Good?”

“Good,” Alex blurts, mouth absolutely full. “Who made sausage?”

“Me,” Jakub says shyly from Alex’s other side and Alex claps him heartily on the back.

Zhenya comes through the doorway, alone again, and makes a complaining noise at having to stand. Everyone else at the table just laughs at him, though, so Alex assumes this is a running joke. “Worst friends!” Zhenya complains and then turns back to look through the doorway. “New guy is here!” he hollers down the hall, no doubt waking up everyone in the entire house.

“I said I’m _coming_ ,” someone says from the hallway and Alex hears approaching footsteps on the creaky old floorboards. Something feels off. His heartbeat speeds up and he doesn’t know why.

Zhenya turns back to face the table, stealing a bite of eggs off Jakub’s plate. “I get TJ, he’s not meet Alex yet."

“TJ?” Alex asks, and he’s not sure if his heartbeat is racing or if it’s stopped entirely.

“Yeah. He’s leader of us. Our boss. Eagle trainer,” Zhenya explains, still in English, oblivious to Alex’s heart attack.

“Eagle _Scout_ ,” Jakub corrects.

Andre’s saying something but Alex doesn’t care. He’s on his feet, stumbling across the wooden floor toward the doorway. “TJ,” he says mindlessly, hoping, hoping—

He turns the corner and they collide. He jerks back and looks down and it’s TJ, and he can’t do anything but grab TJ and clutch him as tightly as possible, because he’s right here, and he’s okay and he’s safe and he’s alive and he’s Alex’s TJ. “ _Oh,”_ Alex says, too overwhelmed to say anything else.

TJ’s not saying anything. Alex is probably squishing him so forcefully that he can’t breathe, and he tries to loosen his grip but TJ’s just tightening his arms around Alex’s torso. He resumes his crushing grasp on TJ and smells his hair, sways on his feet, remembers the times he’d wanted to do this but hadn’t. He lifts TJ a little bit, trying to hug him so securely that they merge into one person, so that Alex doesn’t ever have to say goodbye to TJ again.

He sets TJ entirely back down on his feet and pulls away a little, reaching up with one hand to cup TJ’s jaw so he can get a good look at him. TJ’s crying, those wide eyes rimmed in pink, and he’s got an X on his cheek now. Other than that, he looks beautiful as always. His hair has grown out some, and he’s more buff than he was the last time Alex saw him, and if possible, he looks even _more_ appealing than Alex had remembered. “Alex,” TJ says, smiling through his tears.

Alex pulls TJ close again and rocks TJ slightly. “You alive, baby,” he mumbles against TJ’s hair. “How you alive?”

“I _told_ you, I’m an Eagle Scout.” TJ sniffs and seems to get his tears under control, although he does subtly wipe them on Alex’s shirt.

“You look for eagles, how you live during disaster?” Alex doesn’t get the difference, but doesn’t really care. He doesn’t give TJ much of a chance to respond before pulling back and cupping TJ’s face. “I found your Jeep. Then it was gone next day.”

“Uh, yeah. I’m still using it.” TJ leans with all his weight forward into the cradle of Alex’s arms, and Alex tightens his hold again. “How’d you live, babe? You weren’t in Scouts, you didn’t do any of that stuff.”

“Immune. Lucky. And Nicky,” Alex answers honestly, stroking TJ’s hair.

They stand there holding each other for long moments. TJ basks in the physical contact just like he always has, and Alex silently strokes TJ’s shaggy hair until his stomach growls insistently. TJ laughs and wipes his face, pulling back. “Breakfast?”

“Yeah,” Alex says, grinning, and wraps an arm around TJ’s shoulders for the walk into the kitchen.

All eyes are on them when they get in, and Zhenya’s the first to speak. “TJ, you crying? Alex call you names?”

“I’m not crying. I’m a fierce warrior,” TJ says, making a show out of wiping some remaining tears off his face. Andre laughs, but Jakub’s busy staring between TJ and Alex. “Ah, yeah, I was crying a little, maybe. Alex and me, we go way back. He was my… best friend, actually. My best friend.”

Alex didn’t think he could possibly feel warmer, but his heart flutters. “You my best friend, too.” He hadn’t thought it would be reciprocated; he’d always assumed TJ had other friends that were closer to him. Boyfriends or girlfriends, too.

"No way,” Andre says, mouth hanging open and displaying some half-chewed food. “You knew each other?”

Alex had woken up in TJ’s bed before. Alex had danced to Elvis with TJ at someone else’s wedding. Alex had thrown up in a toilet with TJ stroking his hair and murmuring at him, not caring that he was probably going to catch Alex’s flu just by being around him. _Knew each other_ doesn’t really cut it, but it’s not technically incorrect.

“Yeah,” Alex says, hand resting on TJ’s lower back and gently scratching TJ’s skin through his shirt, like he’s a cat. TJ used to like that, and apparently still does, leaning into the touch. Alex drinks in the sight of him, healthy and alive and beautiful, sunshine glinting off of his waves of hair.

“Oh. _Knew_ each other,” Zhenya says in English, voice unbearably suggestive. Alex is jolted out of his silent admiration of TJ’s physique and looks over to see Zhenya watching them both with a smug, knowing expression.

“Sidney probably needs help with something, he’s not usually late to breakfast,” TJ tells Zhenya, face brilliant pink. It’s clearly a distraction tactic, but Zhenya doesn’t call TJ out on it. Zhenya’s smug grin widens, though, and he gives Alex an obnoxiously obvious thumbs-up before leaving the kitchen.

Alex wants to keep eating but he won’t sit back down at the table if TJ can’t join them. Apparently his concern is evident because Jakub immediately gets up and squeezes into the other side of the table. “Oh, thank you,” TJ says to Jakub and sits down, pulling Alex to join him.

He starts eating the delicious food again and even though it’s lukewarm, it tastes just as good. He keeps his right hand on TJ’s lower back, not able to let go of him. It’s like a dream, it’s like— there’s no way it’s real, he thinks. He must be dreaming, because there’s no way he’s sitting at a sunny kitchen table eating fresh hot food with TJ’s warm back under his hand.

“Earth to Alex,” TJ is saying, grinning, and Alex comes back to himself, focusing his gaze on TJ and smiling. “He’s back!" TJ says happily. “How much do you know about the Eagle’s Nest?” He asks it like he’s been repeating himself.

“Not a lot. Uh, they say you started it, and you’re the boss.” Alex tries not to talk with his mouth full, but it’s hard to stop eating or talking for long enough for that to happen. “Lot of different people here, and there’s the VIP Lounge.”

“I called it that,” TJ says proudly. “It just seemed lame for people to feel stuck in the hospital, so I called that section of the house the VIP Lounge so they’d feel special. When they’re entirely healthy again, they’re not VIPs anymore, and they come up here and live in the Eagle’s Nest.” He puffs out his chest proudly. “I’m the Eagle.”

“Eagle Scout,” Alex says, all the pieces clicking into place. “You did this all. You’re the Eagle.” He stares at TJ, a little awed.

“My scout leaders taught me how to do a lot of those things back in the day. I found the house, and one day Devante was driving by and I persuaded him to stay. Once he and I got the radio signal up then Braden and Brandi came, and helped me find others. I had lots of help.” TJ smiles. He’s not being falsely modest; he’s just like that, talking about establishing a survivors’ camp in an apocalypse as if it was part of his job or simply some kind of hobby.

Alex abruptly remembers the things that actually were TJ’s job, and how TJ had almost been fired because of him. He shovels more food in his mouth and tries to ignore the ugly thoughts that lurk back there in the darker corners of his mind. “So you have a cure?” Alex asks once he’s swallowed.

“Sort of.” TJ gets out a bottle and distributes pills to everyone at the table. He tips the bottle to show Alex the label, and of course it’s an adults’ basic multivitamin that he’s giving everyone. “Devante and Braden understand it better than I do, but what I know is that they can’t just give everyone the cure, they have to get the patient healthy enough to then give them the cure, and it’s really painful and takes a while to work, but they get better.”

Across the table, Jakub straightens up a little. “Devante saved Andre and me,” he says, and Alex abruptly realizes that neither Jakub nor Andre have Xs on their cheeks. He can’t believe he didn’t notice that earlier. “We were in stage 1, and now we’re immune.”

Alex searches Jakub and Andre’s faces and hands for any signs that they’d ever had LV2 and there aren’t any, and the hope crackling in his chest grows brighter. It’s astonishing, and he earnestly tells Jakub, “You look so good,” because he does, and then adds, “Healthy,” because that’s what actually matters.

Jakub immediately looks down at his breakfast and smiles widely, mumbling, “Oh, wow. Thank you.”

Andre stares at Jakub incredulously. “What’s wrong with you today?” he asks. “You’re blushing. Are you in love?”

TJ immediately starts talking again, and Alex guesses that it’s to keep the teasing off of Jakub. TJ’s always been considerate and tactful like that. “Braden says Nicky was in stage 1 the longest he’s ever seen. Nicky must be really smart, figuring that out all on his own.”

Alex puffs up a little, disproportionately proud of Nicky. He didn’t really do anything to help Nicky with the medical treatments, but he’s proud anyway. “Nicky is a smart man.”

TJ nods in agreement. “Nicky figured out how to stop the progression, and the survivors’ network came up with what’s kind of the cure. Like I said, it’s painful and doesn’t work if the person’s too far gone, and we’re worried LV2 will mutate and start infecting people with either type 1 or type 2, which is why we have the sector patrol light to check the authenticity of—”

“What TJ is saying,” Andre interrupts casually from Alex’s other side, “is that we have cure. Every time we need more, we go and get it from where they make it.”

“How long does it take to work?” Alex asks, shifting his left hand from the small of TJ’s back to the nape of his neck, fingers climbing up to rest in TJ’s hair, gently scratching his scalp. TJ immediately drops his fork and leans his head back. Across the table, Jakub stares.

“Nicky will sleep maybe two days,” Andre answers, kicking Jakub under the table and then smiling beatifically at Alex. “He will have treatments every day after that. But looks normal after at least a month, and treatment stops.”

Alex doesn’t give a shit what _looks normal_ would mean. “No, I mean, will he be sick again? The disease is in the air.”

TJ shakes his head very narrowly, clearly trying not to disrupt Alex’s one-handed grooming. When he speaks, the heel of Alex’s hand can feel the tiny vibrations from TJ’s voice. “Once he’s got the cure he’s not gonna get it again, unless it mutates. And if it mutates we’ll all get it.”

Jakub seems to find his voice and addresses Alex, tentative. “They can talk when they wake up. Most of them.” Alex can’t tell if Jakub is shy in general or shy just towards Alex. Maybe Jakub thinks Alex is dangerous, making TJ the Eagle cry.

It hits Alex in a jolt of surprise that he hadn’t even thought about hearing Nicky talk out loud. He hasn’t wondered about that in ages. Nicky speaking used to be the thing he wanted most in the world, but now that he’s been presented with a cure, he hadn’t even thought about it. “Oh,” he says, for lack of a better answer.

TJ glances over at him and must see something in his expression, because he immediately addresses the table at large. Once again, he’s considerately taking the heat off of someone who obviously felt put on the spot. “So, apparently we need to all have the talk about latching the screen door again,” he says loudly, an inelegant but ultimately successful attempt at distracting the table away from Alex.

 _Even after all this time he can still tell exactly what I need_ , Alex thinks, and scratches gently at the base of TJ’s skull.

 

 

 

**ALEX USED TO:**

Leaving to go to the Eagle’s Nest somehow brushed away who Alex used to be—at least, the stuff that didn’t matter anymore. The job, the apartment, the insecurities, and all the other useless clutter in his past wouldn’t fit in the car; Alex, Nicky, Mama, and their supplies took up all the space, so Alex’s baggage couldn’t fit inside.

The important things about who Alex used to be could stay with him forever: he was a good friend, he was a loving person, he was patient, he was kind. He kept his good memories in his heart. He abandoned the guilt, fear, and regret.

Sitting at the table at Eagle’s Nest, hand in TJ’s hair, Alex finally stopped thinking about what he used to do.

 

 

 

**NOW**

Alex visits Nicky after lunch. He knows it’s likely that Nicky will still be entirely asleep, and when he arrives in the VIP Lounge, he finds that is indeed the case. Nicky’s face and body are both slack, and Alex can’t see any difference in the amount of visible markings of disease— the veins are still there, but at least Nicky isn’t shaking. At least if he’s still got a red iris, Alex doesn’t have to look at it.

That thought makes Alex hate himself a little bit. He’d rather stare at a red iris than at no eyes at all.

He sits on the edge of Nicky’s bed and holds Nicky’s hand like people used to do on TV with people in comas. Nicky can’t speak, so it’s not like he’s muting him, but it’s still too weird so he rests his hand on Nicky’s knee instead. “Can he hear me?” Alex asks Braden, who’s changing some kind of IV bag on someone else.

“No. He’s really out,” Braden says, no trace of judgment in his tone.

Alex stares at Nicky’s sleeping face and abruptly remembers Nicky sitting next to him in the library, Nicky leaning over to kiss him while they were staring at the diagram for the radio, Nicky pretending not to know what a boner was. Nicky tracing words on Alex’s chest in the dark. Nicky running through the rain, Nicky laughing without sound.

“He’s gonna live?” Alex mutters hoarsely, not sure if he’s phrasing it as a question or not. He wants to phrase it as an order, but he knows that’s not how the world works. Not now, not ever.

Braden sounds surprised. “Of course. That’s—you really shouldn’t worry. He might not be entirely like he was before the outbreak, but nobody’s entirely like we were before the outbreak, even us immunes.”

“He had a red iris,” Alex mumbles inanely.

“Just one. Even if he had two, he might still be okay.” Braden keeps moving, hanging IV bags and jotting things down on clipboards. He injects something into the tube that’s linked to Nicky’s arm, and Nicky gasps softly in his sleep before relaxing again. “Devante’s the best, and Nicky took great care of himself.”

Alex nods absently. “I saw Andre and Jakub. They say Devante fixed them.” He looks at the lines decorating the outer corners of Nicky’s eyes. “But they’re younger than Nicky, maybe they’re… I don’t know.”

“Age isn’t a factor,” Braden says. He watches Alex for a moment. “There’s really no reason to worry.” He sounds gentle but certain, and Alex can tell he truly believes what he’s saying. The tone calms Alex down more than the actual words do.

Alex stares at Nicky’s face, longing to see those gray-green eyes surrounded with navy blue. Now, Nicky’s grayish eyelids are keeping his eyes hidden. “You need anything from me, come find me.” He looks up at Braden, knowing he sounds desperate. “He can’t talk, but he can hear, he—”

“We know,” Braden interrupts gently, and Alex realizes that of _course_ they know. They probably used to work in hospitals, and they work in a sort-of hospital now, too. They’ve probably seen hundreds of people in stage 1, but none of them were Nicky, and Alex just—he hates not being able to do anything.

He tries to focus on the one thing that he can do that nobody else can. “But I know his—our sign language. Not real sign language, but one him and me made.” Alex looks back down at Nicky. “So when he wakes up, get me. I can talk with him.”

“Of course,” Braden murmurs, touching Alex’s back briefly. “I’ll tell Devante as soon as he comes in today.” When Alex doesn’t say anything, Braden continues in a gentle tone he probably used to use at work all the time. “Nicky will be asleep for a day or two, Alex, that’s normal. Even when he wakes up he won’t be a hundred percent for at least a month.”

Alex nods and keeps staring at Nicky, almost waiting to see the veins recede from Nicky’s face. He doesn’t give too much of a shit about them, though, and just wants to see Nicky lift up his hands and talk to Alex _. I need you so much_ , Alex thinks abruptly at Nicky, and squeezes his knee again.

Braden wanders away after a while, going back to whatever he was doing. Devante comes in at some point, taking over for Braden and getting status updates in hushed tones. Nobody tries to kick Alex out, so he sits there on the bed beside Nicky’s knees. He thinks about the library. He thinks about golfing. He thinks about the first time he saw Nicky’s face, Nicky’s smile.

Nicky can’t hear him and probably doesn’t know what’s going on, but Alex has to tell him again. He picks up Nicky’s hand, wraps Nicky’s fingers around his own and brings their joined hands to rest against his own sternum. He uses Nicky’s index finger to draw an L on his heart, and then gently reaches out, pressing their joined hands against Nicky’s chest.

 


	7. magnitude 1

#  SEVEN. TJ.

 

**AFTER THE OUTBREAK:**

For a while, TJ hadn’t been sure how bad the outbreak was. It hadn’t happened all at once; one day it had been airports shutting down, then three days had passed and it would be the checkpoints, and then after that it was businesses and schools ordered to stop running. It took a while for TJ to be absolutely certain that nothing at all was getting any better and that society had toppled, at least locally. It only took a little while longer for him to realize that the immune population was plummeting every day.

He’d dragged his suitcase out of the hall closet and gone through his apartment, packing the things that would be useful: matches, a flashlight, a few changes of clothes, knives, bleach, and other items. As he went, he’d been mentally dusting off the dormant part of his brain that he’d left untouched for years, the portion labeled _Scouts_. It had been his passion when he was young, a way to be the best at something in the way he couldn’t quite be at school. Admittedly, it had also been a way to make friends like Zach. (And David, Phil, Ryan, and John. But mostly Zach.)

TJ had paused in front of his door. He’d heard too many horror stories, too much screaming from the infected to think that going into the dark hallway was a good idea. Instead, he stripped the sheets off his bed, tied them into a rope, retrieved his suitcase and climbed out his window onto the rickety fire escape. He’d gone down as far as he could and then slid down the sheet rope the rest of the way until he was on the ground. He’d thought about recovering as much of the sheet rope as he could, but then dismissed the idea; eventually he’d need to get to a roof to create a signal for passing aircraft, and the roof of his old apartment was as good as any.

He’d glanced up at the sky to find west-southwest, and then he’d started walking.

 

 

 

**NOW**

TJ does all his chores and errands while Alex is with Nicky, but eventually, so much time passes that he decides to check on Alex anyway. He knows Devante or Braden would have told him if something had happened with any of the patients, but Alex has never been the best at asking for help.

Confirming TJ’s guess, Alex is sitting at the bed of the blond guy that TJ had glanced at earlier. He’d slept through their entire arrival, but in the morning, Sasha had briefed him about their new patients. TJ hadn’t known that Alex was _Alex_ — a common name, after all— and hadn’t taken much time to look at the notes Devante and Braden made about Nicky.

He approaches the bed slowly, glancing at Nicky’s grayish eyelids and then at Alex’s face. Alex looks up at him but then looks back at Nicky’s eyes, mouth, and forehead veins. TJ reaches over and gets Nicky’s file and flips through it.

“He’s been infected for at least eight months,” TJ reads, impressed. “He must be a smart guy, managing it all on his own.” He flips a page.

“He was a doctor,” Alex says, voice oddly hollow.

“Still. Smart guy.” TJ closes the folder and frowns a little, watching Alex’s face. “You know he’ll be awake again in a day or two, right?”

Alex seems to visibly shake himself out of his funk. “Yes. It’s—Nicky and me together every day for so long, just us. Eat together, sleep on the floor together, golf, everything together. We watched movies.” He smiles, but doesn’t look happy. “He’s asleep now, and I miss him.”

“You watched movies?” TJ sits at the edge of Nicky’s bed, the mattress creaking under his weight. He looks over at Nicky’s face—fine features, strawberry blonde hair, probably around Alex’s age, or maybe TJ’s. The infection makes it hard to tell how old people are.

“No. We watched the TV without electricity, and I would tell him everything I remember about a movie.” Alex grins. “Then, one time, he got me a DVD player, a little one, and we watched _Titanic.”_

“A great movie!" TJ blurts enthusiastically, pretending not to be surprised that a doctor and an accountant didn’t think to get a portable DVD player that ran on car batteries, or climb into a car that had a built-in DVD player, or even just use an iPod with a portable battery pack.

“Yeah.” A shadow comes over Alex’s face. “We didn’t finish it.”

TJ wonders if Nicky likes men, if the devastation in Alex’s manner and tone when he looks at Nicky is caused by a potential loss of a boyfriend, rather than just a close friend. Then again, Nicky has been the only person in Alex’s life for the last eight or nine months, and before then, he had nobody—TJ can’t really imagine what that person would become to him, if he were in Alex’s shoes. Back before the world ended, TJ would have asked Alex, but now, it strangely feels like none of his business.

“Hey,” TJ says, injecting false enthusiasm into his voice. “I have to go walk the field but if you want, you can come with me. I’ll show you the property.”

That seems to do the trick. Alex perks up and stands, squeezing Nicky’s knee once before coming around the bed. TJ gets up and leads him upstairs, closing the VIP door before turning left to leave the house entirely.

It’s an overcast day, the wind blowing through the tall grasses that surround the farmhouse. The breezes jangle through the wind chimes made of flattened forks. Eagle’s Nest residents complain occasionally complain to TJ about the chimes and ask for their removal, but he refuses. They’re part of the house. The owners hung the chimes before they disappeared, back when they lived here. It’s a respect thing.

He stalls a little, making sure Alex is behind him, and then starts walking the edge of the fence. Walking the grounds is not really an essential task. Ostensibly, he’s checking to see if the fence has been disturbed in any way, but in reality, it’s more of an excuse to walk around outside. Alex treads behind him, letting TJ part the tall grasses. “I found this house and made sure it was empty,” TJ says. “A month or two after shit got really bad.”

“A month or two?” Alex asks, sounding skeptical.

“Forty-two days,” TJ clarifies. He grins at Alex’s eye-rolling. “I kept a log, so that I’d know the date, my coordinates, everything. I found this after forty-two days, not counting the day I found it or the day I left my apartment for the last time. Nobody was living in it, and it was far enough away that the patients couldn’t walk here from the city without getting trapped in the middle of the day, but close enough that other survivors could reach it with less than half a tank of gas, at least, for most sedans.”

Alex stops walking, watching a flock of birds in the distance. They’re dark dots against the heavy gray clouds, flying around each other, gliding through the wind. “I went to your apartment,” Alex murmurs. “Saw your Jeep.”

“Yeah, you mentioned that,” TJ says, fingers itching to grasp Alex’s arm or shoulder. He wishes Alex would touch him, maybe a firm clasp across his back, some roughhousing or manhandling. The space between them is disconcerting.

Alex nods, still staring at the birds in the distance. Thunder claps slightly, but no rain falls yet. “I said goodbye to you. At your Jeep.”

TJ had never said goodbye to Alex. He’d never allowed himself to think that everyone he’d known before was gone. Every time one of those thoughts got too close, he’d make a compass out of a magnet, a pin, and a bowl of water. Every time he started missing someone, he’d mess with the CB radio he’d yanked out of a semi-truck.

“Well, sorry to disappoint, but I didn’t hear you back then. I was busy getting supplies,” TJ says lightly, smiling. It’s a joke, but it falls flat so hard that TJ’s a little embarrassed that he said it at all.

“Oh, not disappointed,” Alex says, finally turning to stare at TJ. “I’m just… I’m shocked, you know.”

The pause is not very comfortable and finally TJ just lurches forward, falling against Alex’s chest. Alex rests his chin against TJ’s head and immediately tightens his arms around TJ’s back. It’s a different hug from before, more of an embrace than a greeting. Alex kisses the side of TJ’s head, and TJ’s stomach flutters. “New shampoo,” Alex mumbles roughly.

TJ’s chest flutters too, now, and he hopes he’s not sweating onto Alex. He hasn’t had any time for this, hasn’t really thought about sex or love since the outbreak—aside from passing thoughts about Braden that everyone probably has, like, _look_ at him—but now that Alex is here, TJ is remembering what it feels like to _want_.

“I think Jakub thinks you’re superhuman or something,” TJ says against Alex’s shirt, because choking out _you remember the smell of my hair?_ is not very dignified. “He thinks you must be a god, because you shook me up so bad this morning.”

“Smart boy.” Alex strokes TJ’s hair, and the sensation is achingly familiar. “He sees how great I am.”

“Nope. He sees how great _I am_ , and wonders why you’re worth crying over.” TJ tips his head back and Alex automatically cups his face with both hands, staring at him from two inches away. Everyone else that TJ knows would hate being so close, but Alex has always liked it, even when TJ had just hurled or eaten onions or, one time, eaten a whole clove of garlic and thrown up all at once.

Alex looks back over at the house, and TJ follows his gaze. “You made this place,” Alex says, and TJ shrugs. “No, you did,” Alex insists. “It was a house, but you made it… safe. A home.”

“Not really,” TJ protests, more than a little uncomfortable with the praise. “I had a lot of help.” A gust of wind sweeps across the tall grasses and he turns, walking beside the fence and glancing over it as he moves. He hears the crunching of grass under Alex’s feet behind him. “This is just part of it. I wanted a place near the city so people could get to it, but after a lot of people got here, we realized it’s not big enough for everyone.”

“Need a city,” Alex says, which is exactly what TJ had thought back then.

“Not that many people.” TJ watches Alex’s face, notes the way his hair has grayed significantly since they last saw each other. Maybe it’s normal in his family, but maybe it’s caused by the stress of constantly fearing for his life. Either way, the gray is here to stay. It looks good _. Silver fox_ , TJ thinks. “We just need a small town.”

“So people get here, meet everyone, get better, and go live in the town. Where is it?” Alex spreads out one of his enormous hands and runs it across the high grass that nearly reaches his waist, skimming it with his palm.

“A long way away. It’s in the middle of nowhere. It doesn’t need a fence, because it’s more than a day’s walk from anywhere. The patients can’t get to it.” TJ grins ruefully. “I know it probably sounds super boring, you’re a big city boy and—”

Alex seems like he’s not really listening and blurts, “People can see the stars there. Right? They can go out at night. Leave windows open, look at stars.” Something in his voice sounds choked.

TJ reaches out and rests a hand on the small of Alex’s back. “Of course, babe,” he answers gently. The endearment slips out just like it always has when he talks to Alex. “They do that there. And we can do it here, too, because of the fence.”

He waits for an answer and doesn’t get one. It doesn’t really matter, though. Alex keeps swallowing and wiping at his eyes, so TJ has a pretty clear idea of what Alex’s thoughts on that idea are. He rubs his thumb back and forth as it rests against Alex’s shirt. “I have chores and shit to do, admin stuff, but tonight, how about you and me sit on the porch and look at the stars? Jakub salvaged, like, five handles of vodka on his last trip to the city.”

Alex yells wordlessly and gives TJ a bear hug, raining down obnoxiously smoochy kisses on TJ’s forehead and hairline. TJ laughs until his ribs get tired and then smiles blissfully against Alex’s neck.

 

 

 

**AFTER THE OUTBREAK:**

TJ had spent a few weeks looking for the people he’d known. It hadn’t been a fruitful search, and he’d ended up just saying silent prayers at the doorsteps of the people that used to be parts of his life just a few weeks ago. Flowers were everywhere, bouquets rotting in dumpsters. Spray-painted warnings decorated the walls of buildings, the smell of death was everywhere, and TJ had decided to leave the city.

He’d stood by his Jeep, making lists and looking at a map. He’d packed everything into it that he could, and then consulted the map one last time before slowly making his way down the street. It was slow going. He had to stop constantly to move abandoned vehicles out of the way. It had been fun to fantasize about using his Jeep as a battering ram and just plowing down the middle of the street. He’d known that was a terrible idea, but it was nice to have something to think about that wasn’t the fact that society had crumbled around him.

He eventually got out of the city, and just drove. The sun had gone down, and even though he knew that he’d been safe out there—he was going seventy down the highway, what were the freaks going to do, chase him down?—his chest tightened uncomfortably, uneasiness settling between his ribs. The stars came out, and still, he kept going. He rolled the windows down, the cool wind blowing his hair back.

He’d started to see farmhouses. They were few and far between, and that’s what attracted TJ to them; they were far from everything, everyone. Far from the epicenters of the outbreak. One of them still had lights on, and TJ assumed they had a generator, but didn’t assume that everyone in the house would be uninfected. He passed that house without slowing down.

TJ had flicked the radio on and spun the dial as he looked for another farmhouse. His Jeep’s high beams lit up the road and the ditches lining it. The moonlight and starlight lit the rest of the areas up enough for TJ to glance at the silos and barns as he passed them.

He switched the radio to scan all frequencies, and it only played static even as it cycled through all the FM stations. TJ had swallowed around something ugly building in his throat. He reached down and spun the dial manually, fingers moving in tiny increments. There was only static.

Something caught in TJ’s chest and he slowed down to a stop right there in the middle of the highway. He almost wanted someone to hit him from behind, someone to yell at him to pull over, but there was nothing. He gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled hands and didn’t know whether he should cry or scream.

The last bit of his rational mind had realized he was wasting gas by idling and going nowhere. He forcibly loosened his grip on the wheel, turned the Jeep’s engine off and got out. He bent over and rested his hands on his knees, the soles of his shoes crunching slightly on the asphalt.

Everything in his life was gone. Everyone he knew was gone. Everything important to him was gone.

“Fuck!” he’d shouted. It had seemed so inadequate, not a good enough word to describe what it felt like. He shouted it again, louder, and then repeated it so many times that his throat got hoarse.

He had been so tired. He straightened up, wiping a few stray tears of rage out of his eyes, and looked at the sky. The stars looked how they always had, and TJ had remembered something a Junior Assistant Scoutmaster had told him when he was on his first camping trip with the Scouts: _If you can see them, the stars can always tell you where to go. Do you think ancient civilizations all had flashlights and compasses that showed them where magnetic north is, Timothy?_

TJ had heaved a gasping breath. He’d stared at the stars, not knowing why he was panting even though he was standing still. He remembered the night many years ago when he’d been tested for his merit badge. He looked at the stars and started naming the constellations, as many as he could remember. Then, he’d looked for all of the stars he could name that were first magnitude or brighter. He’d looked at the Big Dipper and estimated the current time by the position of its handle.

He’d remembered doing this as a kid—the sound of his scoutmaster’s pencil against his clipboard, the chirp of the crickets around them, the feeling of triumph when he’d succeeded.

By the time his neck started to hurt and he had to look back towards the earth again, his tears had dried and his mind was clear. He turned a little and reached for the Jeep’s door handle, but was stopped by something he saw in the distance.

A farmhouse. Dark, large, and surrounded by a large yard and a fence.

TJ’s eyes had widened. He reached in the car window for his xenon flashlight and flicked it on before shining it at the driveway. There were no vehicles there, meaning that whoever used to live there was probably long gone.

_The stars can always tell you where to go_ , he’d recalled again, and smiled. _Damn right._

 

**NOW**

TJ needs to do his rounds, but he also wants someone to explain all the workings of the house and the town to Alex. The normal tour guide is out, but given how much Geno complains about not having anyone to talk to in Russian, he figures that Geno will be happy to fill in.

When TJ knocks at the door of Geno and Sidney’s room, he’s greeted by Sidney answering distractedly, “Uh, come in.”

TJ goes in and steps aside so Alex can follow. “Hey Geno, I’ve gotta do chores and stuff but can you show Alex around the Eagle’s Nest and tell him about New Washington?”

Sidney looks up from the desk where he’s writing something on a notepad. “Doesn’t Heather usually introduce people to the compound?” he asks, frowning.

“She out getting things with Andre,” Geno says from the bed. He’s sprawled out surrounded by books with diagrams of electronics that TJ doesn’t understand.

TJ sighs and frowns at Sidney. “Like, for the twelfth time, don’t call it a compound. And yeah, she’s out, but Alex still needs an intro.”

Sidney puts his pencil down and scoots his chair back. “What’s wrong with calling it a compound?” he asks.

“It makes it sound like I’m getting all David Koresh up in here.” TJ’s met with three blank stares. “Waco, you know, the Branch Davidians,” he tries again. Still nothing. “It makes me sound like a cult leader, you know, like I say I’m God or something, and you follow what I say.”

“TJ’s right,” Geno says to Sidney, much to TJ’s surprise. Unsurprisingly, he follows that statement up with, “If that’s what is compound, then this isn’t compound. TJ’s leader but we all know he’s full of bullshit.”

TJ and Sidney laugh, but Alex very pointedly doesn’t. He doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, but his face is tense in that way that TJ knows means trouble. Wisely, Alex is keeping the anger to himself, probably unsure of his place in the house. The misplaced, unnecessary irritation on TJ’s behalf sends waves of tingling from TJ’s hairline, down his back, and all the way to his knees.

“Smile, Alex,” Geno orders, and then follows it up with a bunch of stuff in Russian. Alex’s rigid facial expression slowly eases, and Geno gets close enough to touch TJ’s shoulder a couple times as he talks, no doubt discussing TJ right in front of him. TJ doesn’t mind, just basks under all the attention, and Alex starts chuckling after a little bit. Then, Geno ends a sentence with, “Sweet Child of Mine,” in English, and Alex actually laughs. Geno looks smug at making Alex look so happy, adjusting his glasses a little bit as he preens.

TJ’s stomach clenches a little when he thinks of Sidney’s and Geno’s upcoming departure, even though he knows they’ll still be a twenty-minute drive away. He’ll miss them. Gasoline is finite; he won’t be able to just go over and see them. _Bicycles_ , he thinks suddenly, and feels a little better.

TJ briefly prays that the mood will lighten and then takes off to check on things. It’s the same stuff every day: _what supplies does Eagle’s Nest need, what supplies does New Washington need, how well are the residents coping, how are the gas tanks_ , et cetera. Everyone that wants to stay at the house helps out somehow eventually; people who don’t want to stay at the house end up going to New Washington. Nearly all the survivors and patients that have come through leave eventually, but TJ’s okay with that, because some people have stayed here for a long time and don’t want to move on. He’s still got some people that he can count on to stay.

(TJ has visited New Washington multiple times. On his birthday, everyone in town had gathered to surprise him with a vanilla cake with frosting decorated like an eagle. Tom had given a clumsy but heartfelt speech about how much TJ had meant to everyone that had come through Eagle’s Nest and then moved to New Washington, and how if he ever needed anything, they were all there for him. TJ had cried. It had been an awesome day.)

The final thing on his list is always talking with the staff of the VIP Lounge, making sure they have whatever they need. He checks in with Devante, keeping his voice down even though the three current patients are all asleep under heavy sedation. TJ could shout if he wanted and they still wouldn’t stir.

“How’s everyone doing?” TJ asks, staring at Nicky. Even lying down, TJ can tell that he’s tall.

Devante watches TJ as he speaks, curious. “Fine. I’ve got a list of things we’ll need to stock up on, but Braden can help you shop for the stuff that’s not straightforward.”

Maybe Nicky’s as tall as Alex. Probably not, but it’s a couple of inches difference, at most. “Hm, that’s fine,” TJ replies, watching Nicky’s face. He’s so far in on the infection that the lines aren’t going to release their grip on the edges of his face anytime soon, but he’s an attractive man despite the blue streaks. Big and strong, despite the apocalypse. Just like Alex.

Devante waits for a moment and then adds, “And I think it would be good if we could build a space ship and escape this hell world and try to start fresh somewhere better.”

“Uh-huh, sounds good,” TJ answers automatically. Nicky was a doctor, according to his file. That’s how he figured out how to hold back the infection—he experimented on himself. He must have nerves of steel.

He’s brought out of his thoughts by Devante gently squeezing his upper arm. “You’re not listening. You’re distracted.” He waits until TJ makes eye contact. “That’s not like you. Are you okay?”

“Yes. Yeah, I’m. I’m great.” TJ rubs at his chest with one hand and leans against Devante a little. “This has just been… an emotional day. I mean, they’re all emotional here at Eagle’s Nest. It’s practically a soap opera.”

Devante rubs TJ’s lower back, nodding in agreement. “It’s almost like the end of the world has made people feel a lot of feelings. Imagine that.”

“You might be on to something, babe.” TJ grins and slings an arm around Devante’s shoulders. His smile fades as he remembers a previous insecurity. “Still not planning on leaving though, right?” he asks suddenly, thinking of New Washington. “You or Sasha or Braden or Brandi?”

“And miss the show? Are you kidding?” Devante asks incredulously, reaching up to tangle one hand in TJ’s long, shaggy hair. TJ exhales in relief and leans into Devante’s touch.

 

 

 

**TJ USED TO:**

TJ’s first love was another boy in his troop.

He had always been serious about scouts, but as soon as Zach moved to Warroad all the way from Minneapolis, TJ made Scouts his _thing_. Scouts was Zach’s _thing_ , too, which meant it must be okay. Zach was charismatic, funny, and devastatingly handsome. He was the kind of guy that made people think Scouts was cool and not just the outdoors version of _Dungeons and Dragons,_ or an activity that desperate parents shoved their videogame-addicted kids into against their will.

The differences between TJ and the other boys his age had never been as clear to him as they were the first time Zach walked into that first meeting. TJ’s interest in videogames and girls and prank videos had never been high. When Zach joined their troop, TJ had spent about an hour agonizing over it, and then admitted to himself that he liked boys, liked being outside, and didn’t like glowing screens or sitting still. He’d settled into himself. Zach liked him, although it seemed like he liked everyone.

At the end of sophomore year, there was a party that nobody’s parents were notified about. The rest of the troop wasn’t notified, either; it was just the close crew, meaning David, TJ, Zach, Ryan, John, and Phil. The six of them were always in orbit around each other during meetings, constantly checking in. The entire hierarchy of the troop knew they were all close, and deliberately put them in tents together when they went on camping trips.

The secret party was in the forest. They’d gotten the biggest tent any of them owned (or, well, the biggest tent David’s mom owned), crammed themselves into an SUV, gone down to the most remote woods they could get to within a two-hour drive, and set up camp. There was beer, and as they unloaded the SUV, Ryan and David immediately started drinking. John and Phil set up the tent, bickering about wind directions and shade and rainfall.

“What are you even arguing about,” Ryan asked, although he sounded like he absolutely didn’t care as he lounged contentedly on the folding chair. “Have a beer. Relax.”

John frowned at Phil and looked at David. “It’s like he hasn’t been in scouts with us for ages. We can’t have the tent facing—”

“There are two doors,” Phil interrupted.

The argument continued, but TJ was distracted by a sudden touch to his elbow. “Hey, come get firewood with me,” Zach cajoled gently, as if TJ would say no to him. As if TJ could ever say no to him. “We’re going to be gone for a while,” Zach informed the other guys, who grunted in acknowledgement and continued bickering.

Zach led him away from the argument into the deeper part of the woods, following their well-honed instincts and expertise rather than any kind of trail. It wasn’t a park they were in; they were technically trespassing, but the only house nearby had been abandoned for as long as TJ can remember. One of the walls had collapsed and taken the roof with it, but a rusted-out car still sat in the driveway and some potted plants, long deceased, sat on either side of a welcome mat in front of the door. It was like the occupants had just stood up one day and walked away. Some of the guys had floated the idea of breaking in and seeing how much stuff was still there, but nobody would commit to actually doing it. TJ suspected that deep down, they were all too afraid, himself included.

Grass and twigs crunched under their feet, and the crickets started waking up, chirping in several different pitches. TJ watched Zach’s legs and back as they moved through the forest—the way the nape of Zach’s neck got sweaty, the little scar on the back of his calf from that time he’d gotten poison ivy and been so fed up he’d scratched enough to break the skin.

It was when TJ could no longer stare at the scar that he realized how much time had passed. Dusk was starting to fall and he slowed, finally looking around. He didn’t recognize their surroundings, but that didn’t worry him—he knew how to track their path back to the group in at least four different ways. Instead, he was mostly confused.

Zach must’ve heard TJ’s crunching steps slow down because he turned. Even with visible underarm sweat on his white T-shirt, he looked ridiculously handsome. “What’s up?”

“Where are we even going? I thought we just needed stuff to build a fire.” TJ stepped closer to Zach anyway.

“So, I might have lied, because I wanted it to be just us. We’ll have all weekend with them, it’s just…” Zach looked uncertain, and TJ’s heart beat double-time. “Unless you want them here. I just wanted to show you something.”

“Show me what?” TJ asked.

Zach’s face went serious, and he stepped forward, gently touching both of TJ’s elbows in an unnatural, odd way. “The entrance to the sacrificial realm.”

“I.” TJ had no idea what to say, and everything in him sank. “I. Don’t want to—I…what is that.”

“It’s where we commune with the God of Goats,” Zach said, smiling in a mechanical way that didn’t meet his eyes.

The darkness seemed more absolute, and TJ was in the middle of the woods and what was wrong with Zach? “What the hell, man, I don’t know what—”

“I’m fucking with you, dude,” Zach said, his smile turning wide and genuine. TJ felt his face shift from horror to relief, and Zach laughed loudly at him. “Oh my god, your face! You believe everything I say, don’t you?”

“I absolutely hate you,” TJ said, adrenaline fading. He couldn’t help but smile anyway, leaning forward to clutch Zach’s shirt a little.

“I really had you going,” Zach said, wrapping his ( _ripped_ , TJ literally always noticed) arms around TJ. He shook TJ from side to side a little. “Bro, no, I’m just taking you to go night swimming. There’s a really big pond here.”

“Pond water,” TJ mumbled in complaint, although his face was against Zach’s massive deltoid so it was muffled.

“It’s a really nice pond.” Zach squeezed TJ tightly enough for part of TJ’s backbone to pop, and then let go.

TJ swallowed back a shrill _do it again_. Instead, he cleared his throat until he knew his voice would sound normal and said, “Lead on, captain.”

Zach grinned. “Good boy,” he responded, unaware that he was making huge deposits into TJ’s spank bank.

TJ followed him down to the pond, their feet crunching on the underbrush but not quite loud enough to drown out the crickets. An owl hooted somewhere, and TJ was embarrassed that he’d forgotten what kind of owl that hoot belonged to.

They finally got to the pond and, sure enough, the water looked good enough to swim in. “What’d I say?” Zach gloated, tone cocky and self-assured.

“Okay, yeah, it does look nice,” TJ admitted, leaning down to take off his shoes.

They both stripped down naked and immediately got in the water, the ripples from their bodies spreading across the pond. Its glassy surface was lit only by the moon and the stars, and TJ stretched out in the chilly water, turning to float on his back so he could look for constellations.

“Timothy, identify five conspicuous stars that are magnitude 1 or brighter!” Zach hollered, imitating one of their old Scoutmasters.

TJ laughed and pointed upwards at the inky blackness of the night sky. “That one’s called ‘Zach is a Dick,’ and it’s the brightest star visible during summer at this latitude.”

“Wrong,” Zach said cheerfully, splashing TJ a little and lazily paddling around him. “It’s called ‘Zach’s Dick,’ not ‘Zach is a Dick.’ And it’s the brightest star in the sky, because, you know, it’s named after my huge dick.”

“Oh my god, you _wish_.” TJ laughed gleefully anyway, finally turning to face Zach. The moonlight reflected off the surface of the pond, illuminating Zach’s face enough so that TJ could drink in the shape of his smile.

The water lapped around their arms as they both treaded water, watching each other in the darkness. “Hey, I actually,” Zach started, and then stopped. “I just—so, I’m not, like, gay, or bi, or anything.” TJ’s stomach sank like a stone, and Zach rushed to continue. “Hey, no, I’m. Look. If I’m wrong about you, then I’m sorry, but I think you… might be.”

TJ swallowed thickly and hoped that suddenly a whirlpool would magically form in the pond and suck him underwater, so that he could die rather than continue this horror.

“And TJ—if you are, that’s fine, I’m telling you.” Zach’s voice got stronger, and TJ realized Zach was using his leader voice, even if he hadn’t meant to. “God loves you. The guys love you. Your parents love you. I know you can’t—actually, I should shut up unless I know you’re actually—”

“I am,” TJ interrupted, voice a bit strangled.  

Zach nodded with too much enthusiasm. It made him look like a bobblehead, but TJ was too tense to tease Zach about it at that moment. “I won’t tell anyone. I promise. Not that you should be ashamed.”

“They’d kick me out of scouts,” TJ finished. It’d been hanging over him for years.

“Yeah, they would.” Zach reached out and grabbed TJ’s wrist, lazily swimming backward to get them closer to shore. “But I brought you out here to tell you that I kinda figured it out, and so has Phil, and I think John’s at least halfway there. So, like, if you wanna talk about it to anyone, you can talk about it to us.” Zach glanced up at the moon, reaching out with several fingers to do some measurements of its position. “We should probably get back, it’s been a while.”

TJ’s heartbeat finally slowed to something resembling healthy, and he obediently followed Zach as they swam back to the edge where they’d ditched their clothes. They both got dressed, even though they were still soaking wet, and then TJ was suddenly pressed up against a wall of muscle. Without hesitation, he hugged Zach back.

(They’d been best friends after that; they’d even deliberately gone to the same out-of-state university together. When TJ finally got a boyfriend, Zach had been the first one he’d told.)

 

 

 

**NOW**

When TJ is finished with all of his duties, he searches the house for Alex again. The Eagle’s Nest has gotten quiet as twilight has fallen. Everyone has returned from their trip out of town for supplies.

Sasha and Heather are curled on the couch together, talking softly about something or other. Andre plays a computer game while sitting on the floor, the laptop perched on the coffee table. Jakub is hovering over Andre’s shoulder and giving advice. Andre doesn’t seem to mind, mumbling his own commentary back. Braden and Brandi are eating dinner in the kitchen alone together, a bouquet of wildflowers resting on the table beside Brandi’s left elbow.

After he’s searched all of Eagle’s Nest, TJ follows a hunch and goes down to the VIP Lounge. His hunch pays off and he watches from the doorway for a while. Alex is sitting at Nicky’s bedside, holding Nicky’s hand, and staring at Nicky’s face. That’s all very normal, and TJ has seen it before.

The thing that TJ hasn’t watched people do a thousand times is that Alex is moving Nicky’s hand around, not just clasping it. As TJ watches, Alex uses Nicky’s fingertips to touch his own chest, then move in a right angle on Nicky’s ribs, near his breastbone. He uses Nicky’s entire hand to press down gently on Nicky’s chest, and then withdraws his own hands, watching Nicky silently.

“You know he’s gonna be fine, right, babe?” TJ asks, and Alex jerks in surprise. He’d been really focused on Nicky, apparently. TJ shuffles closer and rests a hand on Alex’s shoulder.

“You don’t know,” Alex mumbles, leaning into TJ’s touch anyway.

“I don’t, but Devante and Braden do, and they’ve seen people with two red irises wake up and be fine. Nicky had just the one.” TJ internally debates calling Devante or Braden to come reassure Alex and then decides against it. They need to sleep and there’s probably nothing they can do. Alex has always been like this: passionate and protective, but not always logical. He adds, “When we found Andre and Jakub, Andre had to drag Jakub out into the sunlight to get into my Jeep. Jakub already had two red eyes, and the sunlight hurt him, but Andre was still in stage 1 and refused to give up on either of them. And now, you can’t even tell they had LV2.”

Alex’s head drops a little and he murmurs, “I know I’m worry too much. Can’t stop.”

TJ’s heart melts a little and he rubs his hand across Alex’s back. “Yeah, I get it.” He waits a few minutes and then withdraws his touch. “I’m going to have some vodka on the balcony,” TJ says, offhand. “You can stay here, though. You don’t have to join me.”

“Vodka,” Alex says, as if he’s snapping out of a trance. His face lights up and he turns that smile on TJ again, and that— that’ll never get old. “Fuck yeah.”

Alex has lost some teeth and TJ assumes that’s from accidents and the fact that there are no dentists here in the apocalypse. TJ remembers Alex in brightly colored suits that he wore that technically complied with the company dress code but always raised a few eyebrows. The dull clothes he’s wearing now are obviously not his own, but at least they’re not very tight, even though the shoulders strain a little bit. Sidney’s, probably. There’s a new scar in front of one of Alex’s ears.

He doesn’t look exactly the same as he did before the outbreak, but when he smiles, the warm feeling in TJ’s chest of _safe secure happy_ is exactly the same as it’s always been.

Alex gently pushes back Nicky’s hair away from his face, mindful of the wires and tubes that are connected to Nicky’s mouth and chest. “See you later,” Alex says to Nicky, who doesn’t even twitch.

TJ waits silently by the door and tries to come up with something to say to comfort Alex, but before he can come up with something, Alex cups his left cheek with one hand. “Hell yeah. Drinks now.”

“The balcony’s up here,” TJ says, and turns away to lead Alex upstairs.

The sky is dark and the stars are out when they finally settle down on the hanging wooden bench swing. The balcony is large and wraps around two of the sides of the house. The lights work, due to TJ’s careful maneuvering of generators and car batteries, but for now he leaves them off. All they do is attract bugs. The entire balcony is covered by an overhanging roof, and it’s nice to sit there on rainy days and stare out at the fields that are half wild prairie grasses and half cornfields. The hanging swing has a couple loose blankets on it.

The little end table between the rail and the swing has a few unopened granola bars on it, as well as some crumpled candy wrappers, a candle, a lighter, and an empty wine bottle. TJ moves all of those things to the side to make room for the bottle of vodka and a couple glasses. He pours them each a finger and settles down beside Alex, clinking their glasses together.

Alex does his usual toast in Russian, and TJ drinks. It burns a little, but it’s fine. It’s even _more_ fine when Alex reaches out and rests a hand on TJ’s leg. He’s always been like that, especially when drinking, although TJ supposes a lot has changed since they last saw each other.

“How long ago did you meet Nicky?” TJ asks, because he has so many questions but figures he’s got to start somewhere.

“About halfway after outbreak.” Alex’s thumb strokes back and forth against TJ’s shorts, absently, like he’s barely noticing he’s doing it. “He was in stage 1 already.” Crickets chirp out in the fields.

Jesus. That was a hell of a long time to stay in stage 1. “And you guys figured out how to talk to each other,” TJ asks, although it’s not really a question. He’s feeling a little sweaty and loose already; alcohol affects him more these days. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t had a lot to drink for a long time. Maybe he’s just getting old.

Alex shifts around to face TJ, seeming to be already bored with the stars. His gaze is more intense than it was in the past, but literally everything about their lives is more intense than it ever has been. “Yeah. He uses his hands, I just talk to him. We hate writing, it takes forever, and English isn’t first language for him or me.” Alex smiles, and it actually reaches his eyes this time. “He made your name.”

“Made my name?” TJ asks, shifting to face Alex too, pulling one leg up on the bench.

“Yeah.” Alex reaches all the way across TJ and puts his glass down. He holds his hands in a time-out gesture, and then draws a J shape with one hand. Predictably, his hand returns to TJ’s leg after that. Affectionate. “Because we were talking about you.”

TJ beams, putting his arm on the back of the swing so it spans Alex’s shoulders. “Why were you talking about me?”

“We saw an eagle, and I said I had a friend who looks for eagles, and trains eagles,” Alex answers, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“That’s not—” TJ starts.

“I know now,” Alex interrupts, and squeezes TJ’s leg a little. His smirk gets more sincere, his gaze soft. “You’re amazing, you know? You did all this. This house, these people.” Alex’s gaze softens, and he runs the fingers of his free hand through TJ’s hair. “I’m proud.”

The door from inside opens and Jakub pokes his head out, glancing over at the swing and freezing when he sees that it’s occupied, and by whom. “Oh, sorry,” he blurts, and stares blatantly at all the places TJ and Alex are touching. “Oh,” he repeats, and says something that TJ assumes is in his native language.

Nobody says anything, because TJ doesn’t speak Czech and assumes that Alex doesn’t either. “I’ll wait,” Jakub eventually blurts before going back inside. Through the door, TJ can hear Jakub holler Andre’s name, absolutely planning to gossip.

Alex doesn’t seem bothered. He leans over TJ to pour them both another finger of vodka and they both toast before drinking. TJ glances back over at the stars before fixing his unsteady, tipsy gaze onto Alex’s face before saying, “So, Nicky just knows that I’m a guy that looks for eagles. He’s going to wake up and think I’m a weirdo.”

“You _are_ a weirdo,” Alex says cheekily, and TJ slaps his thigh. Both of them snicker, and then Alex sighs fondly and shakes his head. “I said your name when I was sleeping. I talk when I sleep, and say your name. He guesses my eagle training friend is ‘TJ.’” He repeats the hand gestures.

“Well, what’s your name?” TJ asks, extricating himself from Alex’s body enough to put his glass down and hold out his hands. “I wanna learn.”

The humor falls off of Alex’s face faster than TJ has ever seen before. “We don’t have names.” At TJ’s stunned stare, he puts down his own glass and clarifies, "Because it’s just us. He doesn’t need to say ‘Alex’ because the only person he can talk to is me. He doesn’t need to say ‘Nicky’ because I know who he is.”

_Oh, fucking duh_. TJ feels like an idiot and fights back the urge to apologize—a request for forgiveness would just be satisfying his own guilt, not actually making Alex feel better. “Why did you say my name when you were sleeping?” he asks softly.

Alex doesn’t even hesitate. “I missed you.” He reaches forward and holds one of TJ’s hands, squeezing it on and off. “You were my best friend.”

“We didn’t even really see each other much after you quit,” TJ murmurs. His heart is warm, even though his protests.

“I was embarrassed.” Alex doesn’t elaborate, leaning forward again to pour himself another drink. This time, though, he stays mostly flopped over TJ, and there’s a neediness in the way he touches TJ that isn’t like him, isn’t like anyone. TJ reminds himself: _I’ve had people with me for almost this entire time. Alex had nobody and then he only had one person, and that person is not doing very well right now._

More than anything, he just wants to figure out what Alex needs and then give that to him, whatever it is. Taking a stab in the dark, he leans in and presses himself tighter to Alex’s side, guiding Alex’s hands into his hair. It’s gotten long, almost past his shoulders.

“Don’t you want to know why I was embarrassed?” Alex asks, fingers running through the strands. He sounds soothed, though.

TJ’s eyes sink shut. “Tell me, if you want,” he murmurs. Truthfully, he hasn’t thought a whole lot about his life before the outbreak, and he’s alright with that. It doesn’t help to dwell on the past.

“I did bad things at work. I spent company money, I helped people hide… illegal things.” Alex pauses, not like he’s trying to hedge but like he can’t come up with the word in English. In his concentration, his hand stops moving through TJ’s hair.

“Embezzlement?” TJ suggests gently. “Keep moving your hand.”

“Yeah. Embezzlement.” Alex’s voice is so, so close, and TJ can feel Alex’s breath against his scalp. He obediently runs his fingers through TJ’s hair some more as he talks. “I looked at the forms and saw they wanted to blame you, and fire you, and I said no, it was me, not him.” His voice is laden with shame.

Maybe TJ’s wired wrong, or he’s not understanding Alex. He tips his head up so he can make eye contact, although it’s difficult to want to move when Alex is treating him like a prized pet. “You quit because you didn’t want me to be fired?”

“Yeah.” Alex sounds embarrassed, and TJ doesn’t understand that. “I did bad things, you know. Stealing money.”

TJ is almost salivating at the idea of Alex stealing money from their shitty-ass job, and then quitting in order to keep TJ safe. He imagines Alex in a standoff at high noon with their supervisors, pushing TJ behind himself and growling. “You protected me,” TJ murmurs, and maybe he’s slurring a little but who gives a fuck. He fights the urge to arch his back and preen.

“TJ,” Alex mumbles, and his voice sounds shaky, somewhere between astonishment and arousal. His gaze is hungry, and one of his hands leaves TJ’s hair so he can hook his fingers behind TJ’s knee and drag him closer. “Before. Back then, I wanted you.”

It’s not a tremendous surprise but it’s thrilling to hear. TJ wraps his arms around Alex’s neck, intending to tip back so Alex is on top of him. “I wanted you, too, and I still—”

He’s interrupted by the sound of the porch’s fucking screen door opening again and this time it’s Andre poking his head out. He exclaims something in Swedish, sounding surprised, and TJ stops leaning backwards and instead lurches forward, watching Andre from over Alex’s shoulder. Alex’s hands make themselves at home on TJ’s lower back, although they don’t ever make it down past his waistband, which is vaguely disappointing. “What’s up?” TJ asks Andre, trying to prompt him out of his shock so he’ll explain himself and go away.

“Oh. Uh, TV—which wires?” Andre says, and Jakub sticks his head out the door too, eyes huge.

TJ holds his hands out and explains the wire configuration for the power for the TV for the forty thousandth time, gesturing when necessary. Alex stays still, facing the darkness, chin hooked over the nape of TJ’s neck.

“And then turn it on,” TJ concludes.

“Okay, thanks,” Andre answers and heads back inside.

Jakub lingers, eyes big and looking vaguely concerned. TJ’s going to have to have a talk with him later, he can already tell. “C’mon!” Andre calls at Jakub from inside, and Jakub slowly goes back inside. _Yeah, definitely going to need to talk to him_ , TJ thinks.

The tipsy, romantic vibe from before has dissipated and TJ feels the exhaustion of the day sinking into his bones. When he pulls back to look at Alex, the lethargy is mirrored in the creases of Alex’s face. “Bedtime, babe,” TJ murmurs, bumping his forehead lightly against Alex’s. “Where did you sleep last night?”

“Alone,” Alex mumbles somewhat bitterly, which isn’t what TJ asked, but somehow answers the question anyway. Even tired and tipsy, TJ can figure out what this means: answering _alone_ means _alone_ isn’t Alex’s default. Alex’s default must be sleeping with Nicky.

TJ briefly considers trying to somehow set Alex up to be able to sleep beside Nicky down in the VIP Lounge, but discards the idea immediately; the mattresses down there are all twin size, and Alex and Nicky are both big and tall. Moreover, Nicky’s hooked up to at least five apparatuses that were extremely stressful to get from various hospitals. Alex might roll over onto one without meaning to, or dislodge something in Nicky’s arm. The Eagle’s Nest can’t afford to risk anything happening to those machines; they’d spent days planning how to get that crap out of the area hospitals, with TJ, Sasha, and Heather providing cover from the patients while Devante and Braden got the gear out of the rooms, down the hallways, and into the Jeep.

Moreover, the beeping and whirring of the monitors might freak Alex out even worse. Putting him down with Nicky is a bad idea, but TJ still wants to help. “Sleep with me,” he suggests, carefully extricating himself from Alex’s grip and standing up. He holds out a hand for Alex to take.

Alex looks surprised, and TJ rushes to add, “I mean, beside me. Like we’ve done before.” He pauses and then drops his hand. “Unless Nicky wouldn’t… I don’t know if you guys, uh, I won’t make a move or anything.” The alcohol is wearing off too fast for TJ’s liking.

“Fuck yeah,” Alex says, reaching out and grabbing TJ’s hand demandingly. “Yeah. Let’s, yeah.” He rubs his face. “Where do you sleep?”

TJ squeezes Alex’s palm and pulls until Alex stands up, knees cracking. “The attic. I took it all for myself.” He leads Alex back inside, firmly keeping their hands linked even when Andre and Jakub look over from whatever show they’re watching to stare.

“Selfish,” Alex remarks, seeming content to be led. Somehow, TJ had forgotten how huge Alex’s hands are, and how strong they can be.

“Not really. I found the abandoned house, I converted it into what it is now. I had help, though. Made sure they all got good rooms, too.” TJ lets go of Alex’s hand to climb up the ladder to the attic, which is now just permanently open. He flicks on the strings of energy efficient LED bulbs that light the room. “Don’t stand straight up, the ceiling is low.”

Alex follows him up and has to stay in a weird crouch, which makes TJ laugh. “Okay, this room is tiny. Sorry, you’re not selfish,” Alex admits. His expression softens. “You never selfish.”

TJ’s sure his face is turning red. “Hey, sometimes I was,” he protests, and then shuffles backward onto his mattress. It’s on the floor, but it’s wide, and can probably fit two small people comfortably, and two big people if they’re willing to get real friendly. He’s never had the opportunity to test that out, though.

He changes into sleep pants while sitting down and starts pushing through a pile of clothes, looking for his clean sleep shirt. Alex, predictably, just takes off his shirt and pants before flopping onto the bed in his boxers.

“Babe, it’s not a huge bed. You might wanna wear a shirt or something,” TJ suggests, wondering if Nicky would approve of this, or if Nicky’s going to hate TJ when he wakes up.

“Nope.” Alex is shameless with his response and turns his head to face TJ, holding out a hand. “Not you, no shirt, either. Okay?”

TJ stops pushing through the mound of clean laundry and looks over at Alex, checking for any signs that Alex is trying to subtly turn TJ into a homewrecking hussy. He stops short of asking Alex if Nicky would mind that, and instead just nods. He reaches over to turn off the lights and then settles down on the mattress, pulling the blankets up. He can still see by the light of the moon and stars that comes through the skylight.

(Deep down, the skylight was why he chose the attic. It’s not comfortable and it’s not big but it’s got a window to the stars. During his first days at Eagle’s Nest, he’d been entirely alone; staring at the stars had been the only thing that had centered and calmed him enough to sleep.)

Alex watches him patiently and as soon as TJ’s done positioning himself, he reaches forward and drags TJ across the bedding to rest flush against him. “Alex,” TJ blurts, half-laughing.

“Leif,” Alex answers, because he’s a dick. By the dim glow of the moon, TJ can see that he’s smirking.

TJ angles himself more into Alex’s arms and exhales when they both find a position they like. Alex’s nose is in TJ’s hair, and TJ’s beginning to suspect that Alex has a _thing_ about his hair.  Normally, something like this would be leading to sex—lying together in the dark like this, mostly unclothed, alone under the stars. The mood settling over TJ is different, though, and he guesses that he’s giving something to Alex that Alex needs.

“Love you, babe. Get some sleep,” TJ murmurs.

“Love you too, baby,” Alex answers back, without a trace of hesitation.

TJ forces his own eyes to stay open until he hears Alex’s breathing change. Not long after, quiet snoring starts up, and an unexpected pricking sensation sparks at the back of TJ’s closed eyes, because it’s just so _familiar_ —it’s familiar in a way he thought he’d never feel again. Alex’s warmth, Alex’s snoring, Alex’s affection. Reliable and fixed and constant, like a constellation in the night sky of TJ’s life.

He swallows and concentrates on the sound of the crickets and the reassuring press of Alex’s body against his.

 

 

 

**AFTER THE OUTBREAK:**

TJ had spent a couple days gathering food and preparing tools. He’d known that a radio was essential, and he had to use it to attract other uninfected people far away, but his most pressing concern was keeping himself alive. He couldn’t help anyone else if he weren’t even around.

He hadn’t expected any company. He had set up a stereo system powered by a car battery so he could listen to music while preparing the house, so when a truck came down the dirt road near the house, he almost didn’t hear it. The second the roar of the engine got loud enough to be audible over the stereo, he hightailed it out of the house, sprinting across the yard toward the road in his bare feet.

The truck had immediately slowed down, and then fully stopped. The engine turned off and a guy got out wearing scrubs that were half-covered in that blue blood of the infected. He had an X on his cheek. “Hey,” TJ said in greeting, suddenly aware of how crazy he must look, running around barefoot. “I’m TJ.” He shifted his weight gingerly, trying to get the gravel to hurt his feet a little less.

“I’m Devante. I’m a doctor, and it sure looks like you need one right about now,” said the guy, Dr. Devante, looking amused as he glanced down pointedly at TJ’s feet.

“I know I look crazy, I just couldn’t let you drive by.” TJ had stepped backwards into the grass and heaved a relieved sigh. Devante laughed at him. TJ laughed at himself, too, before he continued. “I’m renovating the house, getting parts of it wired up with electricity. I just got here a few days ago, it’s in rough shape, but I’ve got plans for it to be kind of a shelter for survivors.”

Devante had closed the door of his truck and looked up at the house suspiciously. “This isn’t yours,” he’d deduced.

“No. I think it’s nobody’s. Not anymore.” TJ gestured at various features of the house. “The basement only has one entrance—well, it had two but I boarded up the second one—so I thought that’s where anyone needing medical treatment could go, for the safety of others. It would be easy to put in a tall fence—you can see, I marked the area with spray paint—but it’s far enough out that if the infected tried to walk here, they wouldn’t make it before the sun came up.” TJ watched Devante hopefully. “It’s a close enough drive to nearby towns that supplies aren’t impossible to come by, though. I’ve gotten the burners working, since it has an old-fashioned stove. I even have a TV, but the only DVDs the house had in it were _The Notebook_ and _Titanic_ , so I’ve been crying a lot and I’ve decided that love is dead. Also, I need more DVDs. The house has a lot of rooms, and—”

“You really know what you’re doing,” Devante interrupted gently, but his expression wasn’t very warm. “Were you some kind of… prepper? Big NRA fan, or—”

“No, no,” TJ answered, shaking his head vigorously.

Devante’s shoulders had relaxed a little. “And you’re not, like, the next David Koresh?”

“Oh God, no.” TJ blinked and realized that he probably should’ve led with the most important part. “I’m an Eagle Scout. I mean, I was during high school.”

“Oh.” Devante grinned. “Because you were a nerd and liked dorky outfits, or because you were a nerd and your parents had to force you to go outside?”

TJ had known in that moment that Devante was going to stay, and it had been such a warm feeling that he’d laughed despite the insult. “Option three: because there was a cute guy,” he answered sincerely.

Devante reached into the back of his truck and picked up a suitcase. He’d turned and smiled at TJ. “Looks like I’m home.”

“Great!” TJ had been thrilled, and the two of them spent the evening unloading the truck, preparing a bedroom for Devante, and exchanging stories.

 

 

 

**NOW**

TJ wakes up to Jakub jiggling his arm. “Mm,” TJ gurgles out, trying to focus. He taps the bed beside him, and nobody’s there; Alex must have left during the night.

“Alex is with Nicky. He’s worried.” Jakub informs him. “You should go down there.”

TJ rubs his face and sits up, yawning. “You come in here to wake me up because of what Alex is doing?” Jakub nods. TJ continues, “Everyone’s fine.” Jakub nods. “The house is safe, the infected are far away, Sidney and Geno aren’t in a snit, nobody’s hurt and nothing’s on fire?” TJ rattles off quickly, because those are the chief calamities that could warrant Jakub shaking him awake.

Jakub nods at all of those things, and then repeats, “Alex is worried,” as if TJ didn’t hear him the first time.

TJ flops down onto his back and stretches. “You think he’s the new alpha wolf, huh?” he mumbles sleepily, not really looking for an answer.

His question goes totally ignored as Jakub looks at the wrinkled sheets. “Did you guys…” he starts.

“Go make breakfast, kiddo,” TJ says, just to get Jakub out of his hair. Jakub reluctantly climbs back down the ladder and TJ dresses, moving slowly and reluctantly. A glance out the skylight lets him know that it’s barely dawn, and there’s no reason for Jakub to be awake. He wonders if Jakub even went to sleep—he and Andre have been known to play games late into the night, almost to the morning. TJ would scold them for it, since it leads to them being tired all day, but it warms him to see that they’re doing something that people their age did before society collapsed. They’re doing what kids their age are supposed to do: have fun, be irresponsible, enjoy being young enough to stay up all damn night.

TJ’s back pops as he stretches before climbing down the ladder. He passes the closed doors, goes down the stairs, and then goes into the VIP Lounge. Alex is there, sitting on the edge of Nicky’s bed, looking tense. The pregnant cat that they brought with them has apparently also wandered back to Nicky, because she’s lying on his other side, curled up and slumbering soundly.

“Good morning,” TJ murmurs.

Alex’s entire face is tense. “What’s wrong with him. Why is he getting worse?” he demands, keeping his voice down. His voice is rough from sleep.

TJ doesn’t know what Alex is talking about. He shuffles closer and examines Nicky, and even though he’s not a medical staff person, he can tell that Nicky’s condition is improving. The blue veins have receded, and the dark purplish gray has faded from around the edges of Nicky’s eyes. “He looks like he’s getting better. Once Devante wakes up, or Braden, they can tell you. If something were really wrong, the machines would be going off.”

“He’s so—he looks different,” Alex mumbles.

TJ suddenly understands what’s going on, then, and sits down beside the pregnant cat. He gently takes Alex’s hand and squeezes. “He’s going to look different. He won’t be infected anymore.”

Alex hasn’t looked away from Nicky’s face this entire time. “I don’t know what he’s like. I don’t—I met him and he was infected. I don’t know what he looks like before that.”

“You’ve never heard his voice?” TJ asks, rubbing his thumb gently over Alex’s knuckles. Their hands rest on the blanket right over Nicky’s stomach, rising and falling slightly as Nicky breathes.

“No,” Alex says, and to TJ’s surprise, he doesn’t sound like he really cares.

With anyone else, TJ would never ask, because it’s not his business, but he and Alex have never cared about being polite and proper to each other. TJ checks to make sure that everyone else in the room is soundly asleep and then asks gently, “Are you in love with him?”

“So fucking much,” Alex answers without hesitation. He sounds so certain, and TJ envies that certainty. Answering the question must have brought Alex back to the current moment, though, because he abruptly looks up at TJ and makes eye contact. His expression is—apologetic? “You and me—” he starts.

“I’m happy for you,” TJ says, and sincerely means it. He smiles at Alex, and the weirdly sad expression fades off of Alex’s face. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m not crying on the inside. I used to be in love with you, but I also used to be an accountant, and used to think _The Notebook_ was better than _Forrest Gump_.” TJ squeezes Alex’s hand. “That was all a long time ago.” He inhales to tell the story of how _The Notebook_ was one of the only two movies he had access to for months, but then quiets. Alex probably wouldn’t find it funny right about now.

“I was afraid to kiss you,” Alex murmurs, as if TJ hasn’t already figured that out. “I loved you too. I was dumb. But I was in love. Just. You should know, too. I talked to mannequin, said goodbye to you.”

TJ has no idea what talking to a mannequin means, but lets it slide. “Okay. Nice,” he says, for lack of anything better to say. Their joined hands are getting sweaty. “But we’re still gonna be friends, even if we’re not in love, right?”

“Best friends,” Alex answers immediately. “Still love you. Best friends.”

“Nicky’s your best friend now.” TJ’s smiling even as he protests. “You do everything together.”

Alex frowns at him with an almost scolding expression. “Best friends forever, TJ. You promised, I remember, I was holding your hair back when you barfed.”

“Which time?” TJ asks, and they both snicker. “Okay. Fine. Best friends.”

Alex squeezes TJ’s hand. The cat, apparently tired of the noise Alex and TJ are making, straightens up, stretches, and hops down on the floor to wander away. “What’s her name?” TJ asks, watching her disappear under a table.

“Mama,” Alex says, proud. TJ is immediately certain that Alex named her. “Nicky catch her. Actually, the first time, he just saw her but she ran away.” The smile Alex has on his face is disproportionately huge. “He was so happy. He drew a picture. Next time, he catch her.”

TJ had intended on suggesting they go down for breakfast, but now, he thinks that can wait. “What did you and Nicky do for fun?” he asks, watching as the crinkles around Alex’s eyes deepen from his smile.

Alex launches into some stories about library visits, “cooking,” golfing, and “watching” movies together. TJ listens, equal parts enraptured and alarmed at what he hears; he wishes he could time travel to get Alex to join scouts for at least a year or two, enough so he’d at least learn how to prepare food without electricity, or get an actual TV to run instead of staring at blank screens.

“Then, we watched _Titanic_ , and Nicky—Nicky pretended not to know what Rose’s G-spot was.” Alex has to pause a couple times, he’s laughing so hard.

“But he’s a doctor!” TJ protests immediately, forgetting all about his efforts to stay quiet while in the VIP Lounge.

“I know! But that was before I know!” Alex is gleefully laughing at his past self for believing it. “And after that, I woke up with my dick hard, pushing against his ass, and he pretended not to know what the boner was for.”

TJ laughs until he cries, listening intently as Alex tells story after story. From time to time, they both glance at Nicky’s sleeping face, and TJ thinks at Nicky: _When you wake up, I hope you like me_.

 

 

 

**TJ USED TO:**

TJ never admitted it to anyone, but when he moved away to college, he missed the troop as much as he missed his family. It helped that Zach was only four floors away in the same residence hall, but it was still nothing like being surrounded by the rest of the guys. Grand Forks was enormous, at least compared to Warroad, and TJ felt stifled by the pressure of the city.

He missed tearing through the woods with the rest of his troop, listening to the rain fall on the sides of the tent, eating food that was cooked on a little stove. It got hard to sleep sometimes, and he’d turn off the light, crawl into bed, and stare at the backs of his eyelids. He’d comb through his procedural knowledge of activities like tying various knots and identifying poisonous plants. He’d lay in the dark and watch a supercut of his life, the memories both beautiful and mundane.

_Phil getting scolded for tying his shoe during a ceremony; the whole troop hanging out backstage and eating pizza at some boring community center function; David yanking TJ away from some poison oak on a hike right before TJ stepped into it; Zach applauding after TJ finally got his Astronomy merit badge; Ryan telling a scary story by flashlight with Phil continually cracking jokes to defuse the tension, because everyone but Ryan could tell that Zach was getting scared; everyone’s voices, again and again, saying in unison: “On my honor, I will do my best to do my duty to God and my country.”_

TJ eventually got tired enough that he’d fall asleep easier. He exercised more. He made some friends in his classes, and hung out with Zach, and chose a major. He wasn’t depressed; he was okay. He was an adult now, after all, and he had to focus on studying so he could get a job. Being an Eagle Scout was the best part of his life, it was wonderful, but it wasn’t a job. Being an accountant for a corporation would earn him a good salary with nice benefits. It wouldn’t be wonderful, but it would be fine. He could afford to go camping every month, if he was an accountant. He could go on the weekends.

“You’ll probably be too tired to do that, though,” Zach pointed out as TJ told him his plan.

TJ talked with his mouth full of the cafeteria’s glazed chicken. “What do you mean?”

“I mean if you’re working full-time, you’ll probably just spend the weekend sitting around, or doing the shopping you can’t do during the week. You’ll be too tired to want to do anything.” Zach glanced out the window of the cafeteria. Snow had started falling in soft clumps a few hours ago, and it was really piling up. “If you have any energy it’ll go toward meal prep and dentist appointments.”

“I don’t know what else to do, man,” TJ admitted. He followed Zach’s gaze. “You got any better ideas?”

Zach took a sip of pop and then turned back to TJ. “Nope. If I did, I would have a major instead of still being undeclared.” The corners of his mouth were upturned a little, like he was commiserating with TJ instead of just judging him.

TJ knew that if anyone could do something fantastic and worthwhile, it was Zach. “I’m sure you’ll find something that’s great.”

Zach shook his head lightly. “I’ll find something that’s _fine_ ,” he corrected. He was smiling, but it was a bitter one, and TJ realized he probably wasn’t the only one feeling—not _depressed_ , exactly, but not whole, or complete, or happy. 

He picked up his plastic cafeteria cup of pop. “A toast. To ‘fine,’” he said, and Zach immediately grinned. They clinked cups, and briefly, TJ felt better than fine.

 

 

 

**NOW**

Alex hangs around TJ a lot for the rest of the day, and most of the next; occasionally he’ll disappear to wander downstairs and check in on Nicky, but he’ll always come back to TJ’s side within a half hour or so. It’s like he needs to just see that Nicky’s still breathing, maybe talk to him with his hands a little, and then he gets anxious at being away from TJ and seeks him out again. He’s constantly touching TJ somehow— resting his palms on the small of TJ’s back, the ridges of his shoulder blades, or the curve of his spine.

(Once, he goes to cup the back of TJ’s neck at the exact moment that TJ turns around to speak to him. His hand slides to lightly grasp TJ’s windpipe, purely by accident, and TJ learns a new thing about himself.)

They spend the afternoon weeding the vegetable garden. “So, the little town. Tell me about it,” Alex requests, staying so close to TJ that their shoulders keep bumping together. They’re both going to end up with bruises but they also both seem to hate the very idea of giving up the contact.

“We called it New Washington. It’s not creative, but it felt right. It took a long time to clear, and a lot of people put in a lot of work for it. People tend to move on from here and go there, once they’re healthy and everything.” TJ wipes his hair out of his face, accidentally getting a clod of dirt tangled in the strands.

Alex immediately takes off his gardening gloves and gently untangles the soil from TJ’s hair. “But you don’t move on.”

“I…” TJ starts before trailing off. His hands go still while he tries to figure out how to put it in words. “It’s my home. I started this place, I’m… part of the team, like… kind of the captain, if it were a team. And there are a few others that are sticking around in Eagle’s Nest for good, too. Devante, Brandi, Braden, Sasha—they all chose to stay. Most everyone else has chosen to move to New Washington.”

Once Alex’s hands are out of TJ’s hair, he turns his head to look at Alex. Alex’s face is twisted into an expression of regret. “Me and Nicky will probably move to town,” Alex says, but it sounds a little like a question. “Because you already have doctor, and I don’t have skills.”

TJ nods, tipping his head to the side a little, not sure why Alex looks morose. “Yeah. Geno and Sidney are going to want to move on too, soon, I think.” He smiles. “You guys can move together. You should take Mama, too. Geno’s going to have another temper tantrum if he doesn’t get one of those kittens.”

Alex’s hand drifts over to rest on TJ’s lower back, where he’s sweating through his shirt. Alex’s voice is tight as he protests, “Don’t want to. I miss you, I missed you, I don’t—”

“Oh, Alex,” TJ interrupts, smile blooming across his face. “It’s a twenty-minute drive, babe. You can see me a lot, if you want. I’m planning to get bicycles, too, since we don’t have infinite gas.”

Alex’s face lights up and he leans in, pushing his face against TJ’s. It’s not a kiss—it’s more like a forehead nuzzle—but TJ’s heart thrums pleasantly anyway. “Can’t leave you again, baby,” Alex murmurs, and TJ leans closer until he’s practically in Alex’s lap.

The moment is broken by an awed, “Oh my god,” coming from behind them. TJ reluctantly pulls back and turns to see Andre standing in the back doorway, illuminated by the light from the kitchen. “Uh,” Andre says awkwardly before remembering what he was going to say. “Uh, Nicky’s awake.”

Alex gets up so quickly it’s a wonder he doesn’t break something. TJ watches him go, not sure what to do—does Alex want privacy? The question is answered for him when Alex turns around when he reaches the door. “C’mon,” Alex implores, and his voice is tight. He’s tense, and his face betrays a mixture of excitement and trepidation.

TJ hops to his feet and strides over, going out on a limb and taking Alex’s hand. Alex immediately squeezes TJ’s palm in gratitude. Covered in dirt and holding hands, they ignore Andre’s bewildered staring and make their way downstairs, towards the VIP Lounge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Geno in glasses!](https://cornfieldsposts.tumblr.com/post/177039360515)  
> [Astronomy](https://meritbadge.org/wiki/index.php/Astronomy) merit badge requirements.


	8. fresh eyes

#  EIGHT. NICKY & ALEX.

 

**NOW. NICKY.**

His voice doesn’t work.

He’s tired and in pain, and his voice doesn’t work. There’s a headache in the base of his skull that seems to be spreading down his neck and across his back, making every movement grueling. The room is too bright but he knows he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep even if it were dark. Devante is asking soft yes or no questions, and when nodding and shaking his head becomes too painful, he and Devante set up a system of one or two taps of Nicky’s fingertips against the blanket.

“Does your throat hurt?” Devante asks. His volume is so low, and Nicky appreciates that.

Nicky taps once: _No_.

“Does it feel swollen or abnormal compared to how it felt when you were in stage 1?” Devante continues, writing down all of Nicky’s responses.

Nicky taps twice: _Yes_.

Devante smiles briefly at that. “That’s a good sign.” At Nicky’s skeptical raised eyebrow, Devante nods. “Really, seriously. Once the swelling goes down and it starts feeling normal again, your voice will probably come back.”

Nicky was under the impression that it would definitely come back, not just _probably_ , but he’s in too much pain to really care. He can’t think that far ahead. He tries to shift around on the mattress and find a position that doesn’t cause shooting pains to pinch at the base of his skull. If he could talk, the only things he’d want to say out loud are swear words, anyway. Not at Devante or Braden, but just… general swearing.

“I know it hurts,” Devante murmurs. “If you want, I’ll wait a while to tell anyone you’re awake. A few hours of rest before we tell Alex you’re up.”

It sounds absolutely enticing to pretend to be dead for several hours and not have to put on a brave face for Alex, but if Alex finds out that Nicky was awake and he wasn’t notified, Alex will no doubt take it _extremely_ personally. It’ll damage any trust Alex can still give anyone. He taps once, and Devante nods and opens up the door to the VIP Lounge, calling out, “Hey Andre, go get Alex.”

It’s not nearly long enough before Alex has appeared, and he’s—he’s holding hands with someone. A guy. _The fuck_ , Nicky thinks, but he’s in too much pain for the anger to really take form. The guy turns around and Nicky sees that there’s a large handprint in dirt on the small of the guy’s back. Alex’s hands are covered in soil.

Upon seeing Nicky’s glassy scowling, Alex lets go of the guy’s hand, and Nicky wishes he would leave. Devante heroically breaks the silence by murmuring, “Alex, he’s in a lot of pain, and he can’t speak, and he needs to be alone and sleep. I just wanted you to see that he’s awake and okay.”

“He’s not okay,” Alex protests, and his voice is way too loud.

Nicky looks at the guy whose hand Alex was holding. The guy is looking at Alex now, waving slightly to get his attention and when Alex finally looks at him, the guy says softly, “Not so loud. Calm down.”

Nicky immediately forgives this stranger for holding Alex’s hand. This guy and Devante are both heroes.

The guy turns to look at Nicky and smiles, speaking quietly. “I’m TJ. I knew Alex from before, we were friends.”

Nicky’s head spins, hurting him more, and he wants to ask a million questions and also doesn’t give a fuck about anything at all. He wishes everyone would go away. He wishes he could get some morphine. Alex touches Nicky’s hand and it’s the worst sensation in the whole world, so painful and unbearable that Nicky overcomes his asthenia for long enough to drag his hand away from Alex’s touch.

“He’s in a lot of pain,” Devante repeats, quiet. “I’ll send someone when he’s doing better, okay? I have all the info I need now.”

Alex watches Nicky and for just a moment, Nicky pities him; Alex may not have ever felt this bad before, and may not have been around anyone that’s felt this bad before. Alex might not know that Nicky doesn’t genuinely hate him, doesn’t genuinely detest Alex’s touch. His eyes look wounded, like he’s the one that’s hurt, and it’s all Nicky’s fault. For that, Nicky does feel remorse.

It only lasts a second, though, and then all of Nicky’s pity goes back to himself. He tries very hard not to notice anything happening in his body, tries to direct all of his attention to his mind, and to focus on those thoughts: the sound of flipping pages of the radio guides, the beams of sun streaming in through the broken skylights, the glinting of thousands of spines of books, and the gentle scratching of Alex’s pencil as he took notes.

He wishes now that he could have frozen that moment in time—wishes he could have somehow kept them both there, where there wasn’t pain and stage 2 was unable to touch him. He wishes he could keep Alex beside him, unlikely to ever leave, unlikely to give up on Nicky. In his mind, he lets the memory stretch out into eternity, until he falls asleep.

 

**-**

Nicky wakes up again in less pain than before. The VIP Lounge is quiet, and Alex and TJ are nowhere to be seen. Braden is in the corner reading a book, and when Nicky stirs, Braden looks up.

“You slept for about forty hours,” Braden says, brilliantly guessing Nicky’s first question. “Devante’s asleep. But if there’s a problem, I can go get him.”

Nicky points at Braden, touches his own ears and then holds up the end of an imaginary stethoscope. It was a gesture that worked with Alex, and apparently it works with Braden, too. “No. Trauma center nurse,” Braden answers. “Devante was a family practice physician.”

The machines are the only noise in the basement and Nicky guesses that it’s nighttime; there aren’t any sounds coming from upstairs either, no footsteps or music or voices. The entire house is slumbering peacefully. Nicky is almost more comfortable with the silence because that’s all he had to keep him company after the outbreak. At least, before he met Alex.

Alex. Nicky cringes, silently regretting how rude he’d been before, but everything had hurt so fucking much. He runs through the conversation in his mind, and his heart rate picks up immediately once he remembers: TJ. That had been TJ, the guy Alex was talking about in his sleep, the guy Alex so desperately missed for so long and had apparently survived. Alex and TJ got to hold hands, because they were… something, and TJ didn’t need his hands to talk.

The rational part of Nicky’s mind says he shouldn’t draw any conclusions, and says that he and Alex were never officially boyfriends and that if Alex wants to find romance with someone else, it’s not really any of Nicky’s business. The rational part of his mind hisses _you rejected him, you put a stop to the kissing, you turned him down and you don’t get to feel sad_.

The irrational voice in Nicky’s mind wants to cuddle Mama and ignore literally every other person on Earth. He gropes around clumsily, remembering her warm weight against his thigh, and when he doesn’t find her he slowly sits up, every movement aching.

“It would be a waste of time to tell you not to do that, right?” Braden says, and Nicky can detect the beginnings of exasperation in his tone. “Because you’re a doctor, and you’ll just ignore everything I say because you think you know better.”

Nicky can’t help but smile a little as he does his and Alex’s gesture for _cat_ , but halfway through the petting motion, he catches a glimpse of the backs of his own hands and abruptly freezes. Some unnamed, paralyzing emotion rocks through him as he stares at his fingers, his wrists—the characteristic LV2 darkness of his veins is still there, but they’re getting much lighter.

He jerks his head up to look at Braden, and fortunately Braden has anticipated his next request and holds out a hand mirror. Nicky takes it by the handle and stares at his face—like his hands, it’s not like it was before, but the sclera on his right eye is only half blue, and the sclera on his left is entirely white. The veins lining his face have lightened and a few of them have receded, and he looks… almost like he used to. Before he got infected.

He doesn’t know how to deal with the nameless emotions welling up in his chest—he can’t go for a walk, he’s in too much pain, he’s too tired, and he doesn’t want to summon Alex. He puts the mirror on the end table and looks around for Braden, but it takes a minute for Braden to come back into the Lounge; this time, he’s carrying Mama. It’s only been forty hours but she seems much bigger, and Nicky reaches for her. She yowls at the indignity of being carried by a stranger and immediately settles down in Nicky’s arms. She’s a warm, heavy weight against his chest, and when he scratches her fur, she purrs.

The dangers of his life, the uncertain concerns and the physical pains—they all just go quiet when she’s there. He pets her, and he doesn’t think about Alex, doesn’t think about LV2, just thinks about the warm, pregnant cat in his lap. He rests his eyes, not looking at anything else, and before he knows it, he’s asleep again.

 

-

 

Nicky wakes up again in pain so intense that without meaning to, he tries to scream. It’s a fruitless effort, all he manages is a strong exhalation, but that seems to be enough to do the trick—Braden is at his side in seconds. Nicky’s eyes are watering at the agony that crawls down what feels like every nerve in his body. _Help me, help me_ , he wants to beg.

 Braden messes with Nicky’s IV, probably putting morphine or something in it. Normally Nicky would watch, but he can’t even think, can’t breathe, doesn’t give a fuck what chemical goes into his body as long as it stops the ache. It feels like razor wires are being dragged across his brain, his spine, his organs.

“This is normal,” Braden says, with a tone that’s probably supposed to be soothing.

_Fuck you, this isn’t fucking_ normal, Nicky wants to shout.

Devante appears at Nicky’s other side and looks him over quickly. He’s probably checking for something in particular, but Nicky doesn’t know what it is. “Pain is normal, but this is—fuck it, give him the good stuff,” Devante says, and Braden hustles to do so.

The pain eases after what feels like eternity but is probably just ten seconds. The razor wire is still there, but at least it’s not moving anymore. He can finally use his brain long enough to think that he should signal somehow that the pain is slightly at bay, but before he can act on it, he’s falling back asleep.

 

-

 

Nicky dreams that he’s in stage 2, dreams that his teeth are breaking and that his jaw is rotting. When he finally goes into stage 3 his mandible falls clean off. He can’t eat anymore, and when another ghost tries to eat Nicky, dream-Nicky just lets them. The ghost eats at his arm, and Nicky sits there apathetically watching as he gets cannibalized.

He’s startled awake because someone really is grasping his arm, and he jolts in shock a little before yanking it away. His disorientation clears quickly enough that Nicky can recognize the hurt look in Alex’s eyes. “Sorry,” Alex murmurs. He’s alone this time. “I was… talking to you.”

Nicky’s confused again. He flexes his stiff hands a little and does question eyebrows.

Alex sits down on the edge of Nicky’s bed. “I use your hands to talk. I think maybe when you sleep, you can still know what your hands say.”

Nicky glances around. Braden and Devante aren’t present, and neither is Mama. Over the last forty-some hours, the other patients have left, and Alex and Nicky are alone together. Nicky looks back at Alex and uses his hands to do time-out and fishhook, followed by question eyebrows.

“He’s busy.” Alex keeps watching Nicky like he always does, in case Nicky’s got something to say.

It’s awkward between them. It’s never awkward between them, but right now it’s absolutely stifling. At least the pain is just background noise at the moment.

“Can’t use voice,” Alex observes. Surprisingly, he doesn’t sound disappointed; he just phrases it as a statement of fact.

Nicky tries to make a noise, even just a hum, but it’s just weird exhalation again. It’s not even loud enough to be audible over the noises of the house: the clicking medical machines, the footsteps upstairs, silverware tapping on plates. He shakes his head, and Alex nods once in acknowledgement.

_Fuck this_ , Nicky thinks. He sits up slightly and goes right for it, pointing at Alex and then resting his cheek on his back of his hands, pressing his palms together. Next, he does a plus sign with two fingers, time-out, fishhook, and a thumbs up. He points at Alex again, holds his fingers in an L on his own heart, and then once again, time-out fishhook.

_You – sleep – and – TJ – good – you – love – TJ._

The grammar isn’t as clear as Nicky could make it, but he had to sign it out before he lost his nerve. It’s true—Alex is free to do whatever he wants, and Nicky doesn’t want to ruin everything between them by being distant or proprietary. Alex loved TJ.

It takes a while for Alex to parse it, and Nicky waits patiently. Eventually, Alex’s eyes widen. “You want to sleep with TJ?”

Nicky blinks and sits up more, jostling one of the machines a little. He shakes his head and repeats the _you – sleep – and – TJ_ portion.

“I know,” Alex says, which he clearly doesn’t. He’s blinking at Nicky now, head tipped slightly to the side. “You say threesome is okay because I love TJ. Right?”

  _Wrong_ , Nicky thinks, shaking his head.

Alex’s expression drops a little. “You say sleep, TJ, me, good.” His mouth tightens and he turns away briefly before looking back over at Nicky. “I sleep with him last night. It’s hard—not like you, you’re sick, but every night I sleep by you and hear you breathe and feel you move on mattress.” He lowers his voice like he’s somehow embarrassed. “I hate sleeping without you.”

The tension in Nicky’s chest eases and somehow changes shape, and he reaches out and touches Alex’s chest gently, right on his sternum. He does time-out fishhook and then reaches out, holding Alex’s hand and doing question eyebrows.

It takes a minute for Alex to get it and when he does, he actually makes a scoffing noise, a short exhalation of air through his mouth and nose. “You think because we hold hands that we’re—oh, sleeping with, that’s what you were…” He trails off and shakes his head at Nicky. “Baby, we’re best friends. I was sad, scared, he held my hand. It’s just holding hands, we’re not in 1950s—”

Nicky doesn’t want a lecture, but he’s worried again and he reaches out to touch Alex’s cheek. Alex abruptly stops talking and Nicky does question eyebrows before flattening his hand over Alex’s heart, not wanting to do the signs for _sad_ or _scared_ , because somehow that would make it real. _Why_ , he mouths instead.

Alex snorts a little, but the corners of his mouth are turned up in a little smile. “Because love of my life is sick.”

All the tension drains out of Nicky’s body and he beams back, feeling some lethargy creeping up behind his eyes as his panic recedes. He lets go of Alex’s cheek but takes his wrist, scooting forward so he can lie back down. He wraps Alex’s fingers around the back of his hand, like they were when Nicky woke up from his nightmare, and then uses his free hand to do the _keep going_ gesture.

“I can tell you now, with voice,” Alex says, and before Nicky even has a chance to be disappointed, Alex continues in a murmur, “but our language is better.”

Nicky’s eyes fall shut in a combination of lethargy and emotion, and Alex gently moves Nicky’s hand and fingers around in the same pattern, over and over: Alex’s sternum – L on his heart – Nicky’s sternum. Nicky slips back into his deep, drugged sleep with Alex still holding his hand.

 

-

 

Nicky wakes up again, and this time, he’s nightmare-free. The pain is gone, and he instinctively jerks his hands up so he can look at them to make sure they aren’t spiked with blue again, that he hasn’t stopped aching because the LV2 is flaring up. There’s still a paleness to his skin that wasn’t there before he got infected, and there are still dark veins across his metacarpals, but they’re faded.

“Devante says you’re doing really good,” someone says, startling Nicky out of his skin.

He twists his head to the side and sees that TJ’s sitting on the empty bed adjacent to Nicky’s. A cursory glance around the room reveals that TJ and Nicky are alone.

TJ follows Nicky’s gaze. “The cat is giving birth upstairs, so Devante and Braden are up there helping with that. Alex is there too, he wanted to see.” He’s running his hands across his luxurious, thick hair and then down his knees; he’s clearly nervous. “If you need me to get someone, though, I will. Are you okay? Feeling okay?”

Nicky nods, twisting the stiffness out of his wrists and ankles a little out of habit before holding up one hand like he’s looking in a mirror and then pointedly looking at TJ.

Immediately, TJ gets up to find the hand mirror, handing it over as fast as he can. “Oh, um, I don’t know if you remember, but I’m TJ. We met, but you were—uh, you were… tired.” He smiles brightly as he carefully moves his hands in a time-out and a fishhook. “TJ. Alex taught me that.”

TJ’s trying so _hard_ , and the sheer effort and vulnerability that TJ’s showing make Nicky’s heart feel soft and warm. He’s about to give TJ a thumbs up but when he holds up the mirror and sees his own reflection, his palm sweats and his mind goes blank.

He almost looks like himself. He looks like someone that could have been recognizable as Dr. Backstrom, back at the hospital. He’s still got the obvious signs of infection on the bonier parts of his face—his temples, his nose, the areas surrounding his eyes—but his cheeks look normal.

TJ sounds hopeful as he says, “You look a lot better than when you came in. I’m happy to really meet you. Alex talks about you all the time, like, nonstop.”

Nicky has to look away from his reflection or else he’ll cry, but it’s not entirely out of happiness. He just can’t believe it’s really happening; he can’t properly feel joy about it because he’s so _sure_ it’ll briskly be snatched away from him. Alex is probably losing his mind upstairs as Nicky sleeps, and Nicky had recoiled from his touch—that must’ve been a devastating blow to Alex. Nicky feels an ugly sense of guilt curl under his ribs, and then he feels angry again, because why should he feel guilty? He was in _pain_.

He can’t think about everything now, can’t go through the emotional turmoil of figuring out what Alex wants and what TJ wants and what he himself wants all at once. TJ still needs some kind of sign, though, so Nicky stiffly smiles at him. TJ beams back, relieved.

Nicky sits up until he’s in an actual upright position and glances around at the machines he’s hooked up to. None of them are keeping him alive, and the readings are all normal. He doesn’t want to upset Devante or Braden by suddenly unhooking himself, but there’s really no reason for him to stay.

TJ must follow his gaze because he hops up. “Hey, I’ll get Devante or Braden,” before hustling upstairs.

Nicky wants to order him to specifically not bring Alex down—he can’t tolerate any of Alex’s concerned eyes, he’s seen enough of those for one lifetime—but he doesn’t even know how to sign ‘Alex’ because they’d never come up with names for each other. It hadn’t even occurred to Nicky. Either he was talking or he wasn’t, and he was only talking to one person. The thought makes his limbs seem heavy, and he rubs his face with one hand.

“Good to see you’re up!” Braden sounds sincere as he traipses down the stairs of the VIP Lounge, closely trailed by—who else?—Alex.

Nicky instantly feels twice as tired as he was, just from looking at the worry lines creasing Alex’s forehead. He touches his own sternum and then gives Alex a thumbs up. The worry lines fade and are replaced with the crinkles Alex gets by his eyes and mouth when he smiles. “You better, baby?” Alex asks happily, and Nicky’s heart flutters. He can’t help but grin a little as he nods.

Braden takes over the examination of Nicky’s machines while Alex sits on the edge of Nicky’s bed. In an effort to make up for recoiling from Alex earlier, Nicky tries to hold Alex’s hand. Alex is the one that pulls back this time, and the hurt must show in Nicky’s eyes because Alex immediately rests his hand on Nicky’s chest just above his heart. “Don’t want to say ‘shut up,’ remember?”

Nicky rolls his eyes and grabs Alex’s hand. This time, Alex immediately smiles and curls his fingers around Nicky’s palm. They’re not really ‘holding hands’ as much as they’re just sort of clutching at each other, but it’s nice. It doesn’t hurt.

“So, you should stay here overnight still,” Braden says, writing down some stuff on a clipboard. “The pain’s gone now but it’ll come back in waves, and you’ll need to be sedated, but tomorrow morning, you can shower and get dressed and go upstairs.”

_It can’t possibly be that easy_ , Nicky thinks, so he gently pulls his hand away from Alex’s grasp. He touches his chest, presses his palms together like closing a book, runs his fingers from his hairline down his face, gives himself an invisible shot, holds his hands out like he’s having an episode, and finally does question eyebrows.

“Uh,” Braden says.

Deprived of Nicky’s hand, Alex reaches up and pets Nicky’s (incredibly greasy—Nicky gets it, no-water shampoo is not exactly a top priority to get from a hospital, but it feels like he’s wearing a helmet) hair. Alex understands what Nicky’s asking after no time at all. “Nicky asks, he’s not a freak? No more shots, no more shaking? It’s all done?”

Braden frowns sharply at Alex. “He was never a freak. He was infected.”

To Nicky’s surprise, Alex falters at that. “I… yeah. He calls them ghosts, in stage 2 and 3. I call them freaks. He hates it. Hated it.” He turns to look at Nicky, hesitating a little before murmuring, “I’m sorry.”

“But you weren’t in stage 2 or 3,” Braden says, forehead creased in puzzlement as he looks down at Nicky. “Why’re you asking if you’re done being one? You didn’t get that far.”

Nicky doesn’t have the words for it, not even out loud, not even in Swedish—can’t explain to them what it’s like to watch his hands get more shot with blue every day, can’t explain what it’s like to be invisible to ghosts because they think you’re one of them. He doesn’t know what he could say to make them understand that he couldn’t look in the mirror because he felt helpless to change what he saw there, hated seeing how sick he looked. Nicky couldn’t bear to look at his reflection, not even to check his own irises.

The other ghosts thought he was one of them, because of how he looked, how he smelled. For some reason, calling himself a ghost was easier than hoping that the treatments would last forever, and that he could be with Alex indefinitely. He doesn’t understand it himself, really. If—if he’d gotten too comfortable, he might have let Alex closer, and they would be boyfriends and happy and in love and Nicky would be so blissful that he’d get distracted and he’d miss a treatment or ignore a symptom, and he’d fall into phase 2 because of it, and Alex would do something stupid—

“Hurts again, baby?” Alex is asking, eyes wild.

Nicky swallows thickly and shakes his head. He inhales deeply and realizes he’s crying, and even _he_ doesn’t entirely understand why.

Fortunately, Braden seems absolutely calm about this development as he speaks, graciously not looking at Nicky’s face, giving him the illusion of some amount of privacy. He’s probably handled thousands of crying patients over the years. “You’ll still have to have treatments, but they can do those in New Washington, too. Devante can explain the rest of it when he gets back. He’s upstairs helping with the kittens, but he can probably come down in an hour or two. He’ll go over all my notes and everything, and make sure you can be discharged in the morning.”

Nicky nods numbly, going very still when Alex reaches over and gently uses his thumbs to wipe tears away from under his eyes. Alex’s touch is like cool water on a burn, so soothing to something that Nicky didn’t even know ached until the pain faded.

“I’m going to go back upstairs to see if they need anything,” Braden murmurs, putting the clipboard down on the table by the bed. “You want me to send Devante down, or are you good?” He seems to realize that he asked two questions at once and immediately rephrases. “Should I send Devante down?”

The cat is in more danger than Nicky is; moreover, it’s already embarrassing enough that Alex and Braden have seen Nicky cry. Nicky shakes his head and Braden nods in acknowledgement before going back upstairs. The VIP Lounge gets very quiet again.

Nicky swallows thickly and wipes his face. Alex is watching him, but it isn’t a stare—it’s a tender gaze, gently regarding Nicky without judgment. Gingerly, Nicky pulls his hand free of Alex’s grip and reaches up, holding his fingers in a square, making a “talk” gesture with his thumb and fingers, and then points at Alex.

“You want me to tell you a movie?” Alex asks, grinning when Nicky nods. “We can just watch one. Andre has a laptop.”

Nicky frowns at Alex, making him laugh.

“Okay. I tell you a movie,” Alex agrees. “Comedy, drama, romance?”

Nicky holds up three fingers and Alex nods, thinking for a minute. “Okay. Movie starts with girl moving to new town. She’s sad. It rains a lot. Maybe she hates rain.”

It’s the first time they’ve watched each other during movie time rather than staring at a blank TV. It should feel weird, but it doesn’t. Not at all.

“She’s quiet and weird, and pretty. Like you.” Alex smiles warmly, and Nicky rolls his eyes. His hair is a grease helmet. He’s never felt less attractive, even when the veins were crawling across his face. “But in the new town, she meets a boy. He’s quiet, and weird, and pale.” Alex frowns. “Also like you.”

Nicky silently laughs at him.

Alex feigns an indignant glare. “Do you want to hear movie or not?”

Nicky smiles softly and does his _keep going_ gesture, rolling his wrist, and on a whim he grabs Alex’s hand again. Alex immediately squeezes back.

“Okay,” Alex says, placated. “So, she meets the boy, and it’s because he saved her from a car. She was in a parking lot, and the car was broken and almost hit her. A truck. No, a car.”

In the end, the retelling of the movie goes on so long that Nicky falls asleep, pain and tears all forgotten.

 

-

 

When Nicky’s finally allowed to disconnect from the machines, Devante is the only one in the room. He does all of the unhooking, and he’s got a strangely solemn look on his face. It’s worrisome.

Once everything’s done, Nicky sits up, and Devante pulls up a chair to sit by his bed. His features are now fully creased into an expression that Nicky knows all too well, and his own mouth tightens as his stomach flips. That’s the _I’m sorry, it’s malignant_ look, the _We can make you comfortable until the time comes_ look. The _We did all we can look_.

“Before you go up, there’s something we need to talk about,” Devante says, which is no surprise. “Should I get Alex?”

Nicky briskly shakes his head and holds an invisible pen, writing on his palm. Devante immediately flips the pages on his clipboard until he gets to a blank sheet and then holds it out, giving it to Nicky. The pen dangles from a little chain attached to the clip, and Nicky grabs it and immediately starts writing.

_What’s wrong?_

Devante glances at the page and then starts hesitantly, “The other doctors that I formulated the cure with, over the radio—I haven’t had anyone spend as much time in stage 1 as you have, so I asked them about their experiences with patients that have been in stage 1 for extended time. The longest any of them had ever encountered was in stage 1 for five months—not as long as you—and there were some lasting… abnormalities.”

Nicky’s hand cramps up as he writes; he’s only used a pen a few times in the last year and a half.

_What does that mean for me? Why do you look worried?_

Devante inhales to answer and then Nicky starts writing again.

_Did the patient die?_

“Oh God, no.” Devante shakes his head and reaches out as if to calm a scared cat. “No. The patient is fine.” He exhales and then seems to lose the professional visage, the solemn but distant face that people used on patients when they had bad news. “You were a doctor, I know. You can handle this.”

When Nicky nods emphatically, Devante says, “Okay. If you get all the treatments, you might still be fine. But you might not look like you used to. Ever. You’ll probably have sharp pain that you can’t do anything about, and it comes and goes without warning. Your voice might ever not come back, and if it does, it might hurt to talk.” He pauses. “And there might be worse aftereffects than that, because we don’t have any case studies to really go off of, other than that one patient. You might have it worse off.”

_Might?_ Nicky writes.

Devante sounds almost apologetic. “I wish I could get you into an MRI, or a CT, but there’s just no way.” He watches Nicky carefully. “What’s going on in your head? Are you okay?”

Nicky takes a minute to figure out if he’s okay or not. He won’t look like he used to—not that that had really mattered to him at any point. He’ll be in pain, but not every minute of the day. Maybe he won’t be able to talk again. Hopefully Alex won’t be too disappointed.

The knowledge of all the pain in his future should scare him, should startle him into depression, but it doesn’t. He waits for the emotional fallout to hit, but it never comes; all he can think about is that he’s going to live, and he can move to New Washington, and his life won’t be perfect but it never was. He’ll be sick, but alive.

_I’m okay_ , he writes.

Devante nods once. “If you’re ever not okay, you can tell me, or Braden. Or if it’s an emotional thing, there are people out in New Washington you can talk to. One of ‘em was a school counselor, and the other was a shrink.” He grins a little. “You can tell them how bummed you are that your modeling days are all behind you.”

Nicky rolls his eyes and touches his greasy hair helmet.

“To hear Alex tell it, you’re a supermodel. Did you know he started freaking out when your blue veins went away?” Devante gets up and Nicky hands over the clipboard so Devante can take more notes. “He was all upset that you looked different. We had to explain to him that you were actually getting better.”

Nicky’s heart flutters the tiniest bit, and he pretends not to blush as he carefully gets up and goes to take a shower.

 

 

 

 

 

**NOW. ALEX.**

When Mama went into labor, she found her way into an empty box tipped over on its side in the closet of Sidney and Geno’s room. She seems pretty content to stay put there, feeding her kittens, and after Devante makes sure she’s alright, Geno takes watch over the kittens. TJ, Sasha, Sidney, Geno, and Alex all squat there on the floor, peering inside the closet. The kittens make tiny mews, but their eyes are still closed.

The entire reason that Mama was in Sidney and Geno’s room in the first place is that apparently Geno loves her, spoils her, and coos at her. It’s odd. Geno doesn’t strike Alex as the type to be swayed by cute kittens, but Sidney’s certainly not the one motivating this gentleness; Sidney keeps a distance from the kittens. “They’re too little to hold,” he explains, and Alex thinks he’s nervous.

Mama’s a Siamese cat and has dark fur on her face, feet, tail, and ears, but the kittens are uniformly white. “Why kittens all white?” he asks.

“You can’t just _ask_ kittens why they’re white,” Sasha answers immediately, and TJ bursts out laughing. Alex watches them blankly.

Geno explains in Russian, ignoring the others. “Siamese cats are like that. They’re born white but as they get older, the cold parts of their bodies turn darker.” He looks over at Alex and answers the unasked question. “I had one before the outbreak.” He doesn’t elaborate any further, and this time, Alex isn’t going to ask.

One of the kittens yawns and Sasha coos at it, and Alex watches as it stretches out its tiny limbs. There are five of them, and they’re all tiny and helpless. Alex is fiercely glad that they found Mama and caught her and brought her here, and silently vows to do everything he can to protect them.

TJ scoots over so he can sit on the floor and lean against Alex, letting Alex take a good amount of his weight. It’s intensely soothing and Alex presses his forehead briefly against TJ’s hair. “Was the dad all white, or did you never meet him?” TJ asks.

“Never meet,” Alex answers, and helplessly takes TJ’s hand to clasp gently in both of his own. “Geno says this kind of cat is always white when it’s kitten. Then when it gets older, cold parts of body get darker. It’s normal.”

“I wonder if they ever stop recognizing each other, because they change like that,” TJ says, and something jolts low in Alex’s stomach and he goes stiff. “Probably not, though,” he continues serenely, still watching the kittens, resting his weight against Alex. “I bet they’re just fine.”

He knows what he’s doing, what he’s saying. Alex swallows thickly and asks, “How do you know?” His voice comes out hoarse.

“Because they love each other,” TJ answers with that kind of firm certainty that Alex wishes he had. “They love each other and that won’t change.”

Alex is dimly aware of Sasha and Geno staring at them, but he just clumsily reaches for TJ’s hand and grips it with a sweaty palm. “But they—everything is changing, they were always together, now they maybe be apart. Look different, get friends, not need to be together.”

TJ sweeps his thumb back and forth across Alex’s knuckles. “They love each other, and that won’t change even if they get new friends.” He rests his head against Alex’s shoulder. His voice is kind. “I can see it in their eyes.”

“Kittens eyes not even _open_ ,” Geno protests, although everyone ignores him.

TJ’s voice is a soft murmur. “If they get lonely, they can hang out with Mama. But I think they’re just scared now because everything is changing.”

Alex turns his head to rest his face against TJ’s hair so nobody else can see his tears.

This doesn’t bother TJ, because he’s the greatest friend Alex has ever had. He pretends like he can’t feel Alex’s silent shaking against his side as he gently continues, “They’re so new to everything, and they think they’re the only ones that are afraid, but they’re not. Everyone feels like that. But they got here together because they love each other, and they’re safe, and they’re young, and they can start a life here, or in New Washington.”

It’s like TJ has turned a spigot and released a pressure that had built up so long that Alex hadn’t even noticed it, and all of the feelings he’d pushed down release their hold on him. Without that tight pressure he’d placed around them, he feels almost raw, like his heart is a fresh wound that TJ has just cleaned with antiseptic and then bandaged up. He can heal properly, now.

“Thank you,” he rasps against TJ’s hair, and TJ gently kisses the back of Alex’s hand.

 

-

 

Alex can’t sleep.

This time, it’s not because he’s alone—TJ is pressed up beside him. He’s not having nightmares, because he’d have to be asleep to get that far in a nightmare. He doesn’t feel unsafe, he doesn’t feel hungry. He just can’t fall asleep, so he gets up, pulls on a shirt, and climbs down the ladder.

When he gets outside to the hanging swing, Geno’s there, listening to music on giant headphones and sipping a glass of something clear. Crickets chirp all around them, and Geno stares into the distance, all the surrounding fields lit dimly by the blanket of stars.

When Alex moves into Geno’s peripheral vision, he startles a little and pulls off his headphones. “Fuck, you can’t sneak up like that,” he complains in Russian, sounding like he’s too tired to be snappish.

Alex flops down onto the swing beside Geno. “As if I’m the one that made you listen to music at max volume.” He snorts and looks up at the moon. “It’s late, why are you up?”

“Why are _you_?” Geno fires back immediately.

Alex could choose to lie, but it’s not worth it. He stares blankly into the darkness—in the light of the moon and stars, he can make out the vague edges of things: a tree with a rope swing on it, the edge of the grassy field, the fence, the vegetable garden, the dirt road. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

“Does anyone ever?” Geno asks, pouring Alex a finger of something clear and holding out the glass.

It’s vodka, Alex discovers when he sips it. The quality is a step up from what Alex was expecting; maybe Geno got it from an imports store. “I was an accountant. I can’t do anything around the house to help.”

“TJ was an accountant.” Geno watches Alex curiously. “Why the hell were you an accountant? It doesn’t suit you.”

Alex perks up hopefully. “I seem too interesting?”

“No. You’re boring as hell. ‘Nicky, Nicky, Nicky,’ you say as you hump TJ.” Geno snorts. “No. I meant, accountants need to have an eye for detail, a lot of patience, and an understanding that math still works even these days when we don’t have corporations.”

The vodka is very strong, but Alex sips it anyway as he mulls the words over. “You think I could still be useful? I can’t start fires or find north or anything.”

“We already have one TJ, don’t try to be another TJ. You’d just be a bargain bin version of him.” Geno slaps Alex’s knee, chuckling at his own joke.

Alex pulls one leg up to rest on the swing, knee pressing against his chest. He finishes the splash of vodka and puts the glass down with a clink against the end table. “I didn’t like being an accountant,” he admits. “And it was my only job.”

Geno shrugs. “Find a project. Build something with those massive arms. Figure out what you like and do it.” At Alex’s skeptical frown, Geno snorts. “You come to me with your problems as if I don’t have my own to worry about.”

Which brings Alex’s attention back to the fact that Geno is out here, talking to him, and not sleeping inside beside Sidney. Despite his caustic wit and jokes at Alex’s expense, Geno has been nothing but helpful to Alex ever since they got there. Geno takes care of Mama and dotes on the kittens and maybe he’s Alex’s friend now. The thought makes his chest warm.

“What’s up with you?” Alex asks, keeping his tone neutral so as not to seem prying.

“It’s stupid,” Geno answers. He takes another sip of vodka. He’s leaning slightly forward, though, like part of him wants to talk even if he’s trying not to.

“I got time,” Alex murmurs. Crickets chirp in varying rhythms and pitches. Something rustles in the woods; probably a squirrel. An owl hoots.

After a few minutes of sitting together and listening to the sounds of the rural summer night, Geno finally starts talking. “Sidney and I have been here for four months. We’re moving to New Washington soon, and I’m going to hate leaving.”

Alex listens as Geno continues unburdening himself, and by the time Geno’s done talking, the both of them are so tired they almost fall asleep right there on the hanging swing.

 

-

 

Alex wakes up alone in TJ’s bed, stomach growling furiously. He takes a second to put his shirt back on and then climbs down the ladder, strides down the hallway and bounds down the stairs. “Good morning,” he hollers to a surly, tousled looking Sidney, cheerfully ignoring the glare he gets in return.

The kitchen is crowded, as usual, but this time everything is perfect and good because Nicky’s sitting there now. He’s clean—he must’ve showered—and wearing some clothes that he probably borrowed off of someone. Andre is talking to him in Swedish, fast and excited, and Nicky’s got that indulgent smile on his face that he gets when he pets Mama or makes fun of Alex. There’s a notepad in front of Nicky half-covered in Swedish words Alex can’t read.

“Nicky!” Alex hollers, and Nicky immediately turns to him, smiling bright and wide. His skin is still pale, but he looks happy and comfortable so Alex isn’t going to complain. He crosses the room so he can give Nicky a crushing bear hug from behind. “You’re out of VIP Lounge!”

Nicky nods, his newly washed hair brushing against Alex’s nose.

Alex breathes in, relishing the feeling of the strength that’s returned to Nicky’s body. “You smell like TJ,” his mouth says before his brain catches up.

He withdraws a little to let Nicky turn his head, to let them make eye contact so he can figure out if Nicky’s upset or angry about that. When Nicky turns, though, he just looks indulgent and affectionate, features smooth and unworried. He touches his own sternum, touches his nose, and then gives a thumbs up accompanied by question eyebrows.

“Of course you do,” Alex declares loyally. “And even when you don’t, I don’t care.”

Nicky rolls his eyes affectionately and then goes back to eating. Alex abruptly wonders if they’d made it worse by not really trying to cook; would the disease have slowed down if their nutrition had been better? But they’d tried, at least, with the vitamins. And Nicky was a doctor, so he probably knew what he was doing.

“Andre. Move,” Jakub orders with unusual authority from the other side of the table. “Alex wants to sit.”

Andre exhales shortly, as if in irritation, but it seems to be more at Jakub than at Alex. He grabs his plate and moves enough that Alex can sit down. “You have crush, suddenly you’re like, ‘Andre, do this. Blah blah blah Alex Alex.’”

Jakub’s entire face turns pink and his mortification is palpable. “I don’t have crush,” he mumbles unconvincingly. He looks embarrassed, and not in a fun way.

Nicky reaches out and touches Jakub’s knuckles to get his attention. Once Jakub’s looking at him, Nicky slowly and carefully mouths something that Alex can’t really see from where he’s sitting. There’s too much cross-talk going on, though, and the noise is distracting Jakub from what Nicky’s saying.

Alex finally has to issue a request in a loud voice. “Hey, quiet, everyone, Nicky is talking.”

To his relief, everyone quiets down. Nicky gives up on mouthing words and turns to Alex. He touches his blank cheek, runs his fingers down from his hairline, points at Jakub and then at Andre, and then gives Alex question eyebrows.

_Not immune – freak – Jakub – Andre – what?_

“Yeah,” Alex answers, “they both infected, before.” He almost tells the whole story, but then reconsiders and looks pointedly up at Andre.

Andre takes the hint and explains in Swedish. At first, he sounds cocky and speaks quickly, but when Nicky holds up one finger and then points between Jakub and Andre, Andre’s voice falters. There are long pauses between a few of the words, and he absently reaches out to touch Jakub’s back.

_That’s right_ , Alex remembers; Andre had had to drag Jakub out into the sun, because Jakub had already been in stage 2, seeing the world through pupils lined entirely in red.

Nicky watches Jakub in awe and then scribbles down something on his notepad, pushing it across the table. Jakub leans down and reads it, embarrassment from earlier entirely gone. Now, he just looks impossibly flattered as he says, “Oh. Thank you.”

From down the table, Sidney hesitantly chimes in, “Nicky, ah, they said you were in stage 1 for a long time. How did you get enough drugs to keep it in check?”

Nicky drops his pencil and immediately starts launching into a series of signs that he and Alex have been using for ages. _I – doctor – house – alone – freak – no – know – I – smell – freak_ , and so on.

Despite the fact that nobody understands what he’s saying until Alex translates, everyone watches Nicky with rapt attention. In their eyes, Alex can see respect and awe, and it’s exactly what Nicky deserves. Other than just relaying what Nicky says with his hands, Alex doesn’t jump in at all; this is Nicky’s moment, and Alex just wants to sit back and watch, his heart unbearably full.

 

-

 

Nicky is tired after breakfast, so much so that when Alex offers his arm, Nicky immediately takes it. They go back downstairs to the VIP Lounge, moving slowly so Nicky won’t lose his balance, and Nicky immediately crawls into bed and pulls the blankets up to his chest.

Alex sits down on the edge and brushes Nicky’s hair back. “Sleep,” he murmurs. “No frea—no ghosts here, you’re safe.”

Oddly enough, Nicky’s response is to ball up his fists, hold them against his cheeks, and wiggle them slightly, giving Alex the question eyebrows. He reaches out and touches Alex’s sternum briefly.

_Are you sad?_

“What would I be sad about?” Alex asks, baffled.

Nicky watches him for a while before answering, his eyes alert and considering. The whites are actually mostly white now, and it’s unnerving to Alex in a way he’d never anticipated. He knows that Nicky’s getting better, knows that these changes are all positive signs, but Alex has only ever known him while heavily infected. It’s jarring, the way Nicky looks so different.

Nicky touches his own throat and then waves a finger side to side. When Alex doesn’t follow, Nicky clarifies by opening his mouth and tapping his throat again.

“Am I sad you can’t talk?” Alex asks, and gets a nod in response. “Not really.” The answer comes out faster than he’d expected; it surprises him, and from the looks of his wide eyes, it surprises Nicky too. Alex shifts on the bed, the springs creaking under his weight. He rests a hand on Nicky’s chest, feeling his slow, calm heartbeat.

That was one thing about Nicky that hadn’t changed; the steady, relaxed beat of his heart. Nicky waits patiently until Alex can put what he’s feeling into words. “I said before it was important to hear your voice.” The very thought makes him feel guilty, now. “But that was wrong.”

Nicky’s eyebrows climb even higher on his forehead, and Alex has to reach out to smooth the wrinkles. “If I hear your voice, okay. If I don’t hear your voice, okay. Telling you, ‘I want to hear you talk,’ was mean. I’m sorry. You can’t talk, and I love you. We have a language.” He smiles softly. “I’m happy.”

There’s a familiar glassiness to Nicky’s eyes, but this time, the edges are turning pink instead of the lavender-gray. Instead of talking, Alex holds his fists up to his cheeks, wiggling them, and then points at Nicky. Then, he does his own question eyebrows.

_Why are you sad?_

Nicky shakes his head a little and then forces a big smile, touching his own chest. The effect is a little grotesque, because Nicky’s fake expressions of happiness are far more menacing than his genuine expressions of anger.

“Okay, you’re happy, and crying, but never make that scary smile again. Ever,” Alex orders, frowning. “So scary, I’m shit myself.”

Nicky laughs at that, his usual nearly-silent wheezing, and Alex grins down at him. He doesn’t leave Nicky’s side until Nicky’s fast asleep.

 

-

 

For the entire drive to New Washington, TJ blares _Sweet Child of Mine_ in his Jeep, and he and Alex wail along, hitting the “back” button every time the CD tries to advance to the next track. All the windows are rolled down and the sun roof is open. They’re going at least seventy, and a plume of dust from the dirt road rises behind them as they speed through the middle of nowhere.

By the time TJ slows down and stops, they’re both hoarse, dusty, and grinning like idiots. “Sidney hates it when I drive,” TJ rasps, half-laughing.

“Why? You drive great,” Alex wheezes back, and TJ slaps him happily on the shoulder.

Alex looks around, taking in the surroundings. It’s an even smaller town than he was anticipating, and before the apocalypse, he would have just driven through it without even thinking it would even appear on a map. There’s a single gas station with one pump, and a few shattered out fast food shops. The thing that catches Alex’s attention, though, is that despite the lack of glass, the stores look like they’ve been cleaned. The grass is mowed.

He takes a few steps forward, shoes crunching a little against the dirt. TJ hangs back, letting Alex explore. The door to the convenience store attached to the gas station has been entirely removed, so he walks in and looks at the heavy shelves that are absolutely stocked with stuff. There’s a shelf full of nothing but brand new shoes. Beside them are all kinds of unopened sticks of deodorant, and above those is a box full of unopened packages of underwear.

“Looking for something?” someone asks, and Alex jerks a little. There’s a guy sitting in a chair in the corner of the shop, a book on his left and a bottle of water on his right. “Oh, hey. I’m Tom, I don’t think we’ve met.”

Alex’s manners kick in and he strides over, a little awed at Tom’s height as he stands. “Alex,” Alex says, and they shake hands. “First time in New Washington.”

“Oh. Welcome.” Tom sits back down and takes a drink of water, gesturing vaguely with one hand. “Have a look around. This is our only store, but we’re working on making more.”

“The only store,” Alex echoes, looking at a pile of packages of noodles. There are stacks of cans of beans, and canned cat food. Alex’s heart leaps a little and he picks up the wet cat food, carrying it over to Tom. “How much for cat food? I don’t have money, but I can give you next time.”

Tom grins. “You have a cat?”

Alex beams proudly. “I have six cats. Mama, and five babies. They back at Eagle’s Nest, can’t move them to here, they’re too little.”

“Just take the food, then. I don’t know if anyone else even has cats, so take all you like.” Tom picks up a notepad and writes _Alex – Cat Food_ on it.

“Do you use money?” Alex asks, realizing he has no idea what the new economy is like.

“Nah, fuck money,” Tom says easily. He drops the notebook on the floor and stretches out. “Super nice, because I had a shit ton of student loans. I was in college when the outbreak happened. What did you do?”

Alex grins. “Accounting, for a big corporation.”

Tom’s demeanor shifts a little and he looks mortified. “Oh. Uh. Sorry, uh—”

“ _Fuck_ money,” Alex interrupts, and Tom breaks into a relieved smile.

They get all of the cat food into some crumpled-up plastic bags from stores that don’t exist anymore, and Tom helps Alex load up the Jeep before heading back into the store to resume his duties. Alex wanders around a little more, heading down a random street, taking in the sight of people just going about their business, like the end of the world hasn’t stopped their lives. He hears a TV playing, and it’s so normal that it fills him with hope.

At the end of the street is a flower garden, stretching out wide and fragrant. There aren’t any weeds in it, showing that it gets meticulous care. It’s got irises in several different shades, along with tulips, daffodils, and sunflowers. They all mix together in a blend of beautiful colors, so bright and alive that Alex almost has to look away. It’s the same feeling he got when seeing Mama’s kittens for the first time, when seeing Mama for the first time, when seeing that deer in the park. At some point, Alex had seen so many horrors that now, sights that were pure and good were hard for him to handle. He swallows thickly, forcing himself to keep staring at the white and purple and maroon irises, watching as they wave innocently in the breeze.

The touch against his lower back is unexpected but not startling. “We call it the Memory Garden,” TJ murmurs near Alex’s right shoulder. His voice is gentle, like he can sense Alex’s distress even though Alex is silent. “Since we can’t visit graves or anything like that, we made a garden.”

A couple of benches flank the flowers and even from a distance, Alex can see that each bench is covered in writing, probably done in permanent marker. TJ follows his gaze and explains, “Names of people that we miss.”

Alex turns and buries his face against TJ’s hair, hugging him tightly. They stand there holding each other until the fractured feeling in Alex’s heart goes away, and then he pulls back, smoothing TJ’s hair off of his face and holding out a hand. “Can we go home now?”

TJ immediately takes Alex’s hand, gripping it gently and nodding. He leads Alex back to the Jeep. The drive home is slower; TJ says it’s because the deer come out during twilight hours, and he doesn’t want to hit any. Alex sticks his head out of the window and remembers driving Nicky to the mall, remembers Nicky sticking his head out of their car to let the sunlight wash over his face.

 

-

 

The next morning, Alex weeds the vegetable garden by himself. TJ’s got things to do, and Alex is perfectly happy to be alone for a little while—the sun is still hidden behind clouds, but it feels good to be outdoors, and it feels good to be useful. Everyone else has a job, and they’ve done so much for him and Nicky. 

As the hours pass, the clouds thicken over the sun a little, but it’s not raining yet so Alex keeps pulling weeds and picking the vegetables that are ready to eat. He puts them in a tub to get washed later. Alex had never thought he’d get excited to see a dirt-covered raw tomato, but eating things that don’t come out of cans sounds immensely appealing. There are even beets; maybe Geno knows how to make borscht. Alex doesn’t, and hopes he can find it in a cookbook somewhere. He misses the library already.

Nicky used to always insist on eating fruits and vegetables, even though they all had to be canned. He’s probably elated that they’re eating fresh food again, Alex thinks. He’s a little worried about how much Nicky sleeps, but both Nicky and Devante say that it’s normal, and they’d know better than Alex, so he just chooses to trust them.

He’s been at it for at least a few hours when Nicky comes outside and strolls over to him, looking up at the threatening clouds and then dismissing them just as Alex had. He sits down at Alex’s side and Alex puts down the pepper he’d just picked and smiles at Nicky. “Hey, sleeping beauty.” He almost reaches out to touch Nicky somehow, but his hands are covered in dirt, so instead, he leans forward and kisses his cheek briefly. “Want to help me with garden?”

Nicky nods and they both start working on the cherry tomatoes. Occasionally, when there’s one that’s free of dirt, Alex just eats it raw. After he does it for the third time, Nicky experimentally does the same, eyes closing briefly in unmistakable bliss.

Alex grins. “I went to New Washington with TJ yesterday, when you sleeping.”

Nicky coughs a little, and Alex watches him in case he wants to gesture something. Instead of raising his hands, though, he leans forward, coughs a little more and gasps. He doesn’t seem anxious, though, so Alex doesn’t worry either, just picks a few more little tomatoes and waits patiently.

Nicky sits up straight again and he and Alex watch each other as the cool breeze rustles the garden leaves and makes the tall grasses wave around them. Nicky’s gearing up for something, and Alex doesn’t have to wait long to know what it is.

“What was it like?” Nicky whispers. It sends him into a weak coughing fit again, but when he’s back to breathing normally and Alex still hasn’t answered, Nicky prompts quietly, “New Washington. What was it like?”

Maybe in the past, Alex would have cried and hugged Nicky and felt like finally everything could really start for real. Now, though, he knows that it’s not Nicky’s voice that means so much to Alex—in reality, the day that Nicky showed him the basement was the day that the barriers between them actually came down.

Alex picks a couple more tomatoes. “You should use our language. Don’t have to talk to me, you’re coughing,” he says, trying not to sound bossy.

Nicky smiles at him in relief and makes his _keep going_ gesture with his right hand before starting on the bell peppers.

Alex launches into his story as they comfortably pick vegetables under the overcast, gray sky. “Well, it’s small and only has one store, but the store has cat food,” he begins.


	9. productive cough

#  NINE. NICKY.

 

**NOW**

Nicky can’t really stay awake for more than a few hours at a time; when he sleeps, he’s at least able to sleep upstairs on a mattress on the floor rather than having to stay down in the VIP Lounge. Alex abandons TJ’s bed to sleep beside Nicky, although more often than not, Nicky’s still sleeping alone. It doesn’t bother Nicky, and it doesn’t seem to bother Alex, either. Alex constantly hovers at Nicky’s side, babbling at him on and on until Nicky realizes that he must’ve scared the shit out of Alex with the red iris and all the sleeping. Alex is probably still tense, still worried. The first time Nicky has the stabbing pain spasms in front of Alex, both of them are shaking by the time it’s over. Nicky would be annoyed about it if he weren’t so tired.

Getting to see the kittens for the first time makes all the pain vanish. Geno hovers behind Alex, occasionally chatting with him in Russian while Nicky sits on the floor, not wanting to have another painful episode and drop the little kitten he’s holding. The kitten Geno has against his chest reaches up and bats at Geno’s glasses.

Nicky puts down his kitten against Mama’s tummy and reaches over to scratch under Mama’s chin. She leans into it, seemingly happy to see Nicky again.

TJ comes in without bothering to knock. “Seriously?” Sidney complains from the desk where he’s studying some book.

“I keep forgetting,” TJ replies, absolutely remorseless. He smiles tentatively at Nicky—he’s always so hopeful around Nicky, the look in his eyes so raw and innocent that it makes Nicky wonder how TJ lived so long through the end of the world—and then looks over at the others. “Ooh, that’s a good look, Geno,” he says. The kitten has succeeded in getting Geno’s glasses half off.

“You look great when my glasses off,” Geno snarks back cheerfully. “Alexander too. Can’t see where teeth missing.”

“How do I look with your glasses off?” Sidney asks, twisting around in his chair.

“Like beautiful fiancé,” Geno croons.

TJ laughs. “Suck-up.” He turns back to Alex. “I was gonna go into New Washington again to get more food for the cats, since they’re gonna be here with Mama for a while. Want to come?”

Nicky gets up and touches Alex’s shoulder before he can answer. When Alex’s gaze is fixed intently on him, he touches Alex’s sternum, shakes his head, and touches his own chest. Alex gives him question eyebrows, and Nicky nods with certainty.

“Nicky wants to go. I’m stay here with kittens,” Alex tells TJ.

TJ swallows a little and nods. “Uh. Great, uh. Cool. Just come out to the Jeep when you’re ready,” he says, nervously putting his hands on his hips and then dropping them before hastily retreating.

Geno says something to Alex in Russian, grinning slyly, and Alex snaps back at him in response, tone harsh. Then he seems to hesitate and turns back to Nicky. “Right? You gonna be nice to him?”

Nicky gives Alex a look of exaggerated exasperation and then nods, because of _course_ he’s going to be nice.

Alex turns to Geno and says smugly, “See? Very nice.”

Nicky knows he and Alex have a lot of things they need to clear up, but it’s hard to do all that when he’s so fucking tired all the time, sinking in and out of pain. He can at least take some steps to reassure Alex, though, and the way TJ and Alex are both apparently afraid of Nicky flying into a jealous rage is both depressing and insulting. He leans forward and kisses Alex’s cheek, careful not to jostle the little white kitten resting against Alex’s barrel of a chest. Alex’s tension disappears with just that simple gesture, and he smiles.

Nicky makes his way downstairs and gets a bottle of water before heading out to the driveway. TJ is waiting out there, cool breeze blowing his hair in waves. Not for the first time, Nicky wonders if Alex has ever looked at him and seen TJ, touched Nicky and felt TJ. Maybe in the dark.

As soon as Nicky’s shoes start crunching on the gravel, TJ stands up straight and rubs his hands together awkwardly. “Okay. Great, you brought water. Uh, if you need something, you can just write it down, uh, I keep a pen and some paper in the car so I can make lists of shit we need, or messages to pass back and forth from New Washington to Eagle’s Nest.” He seems to realize he’s babbling; his ears are pink and he’s shifting his weight from side to side. “I mean, you can talk if you want. Alex says you can sort of whisper now, but he says it hurts you, so don’t talk, unless you want to, but if Alex thinks I made you talk, he’ll—”

This is unbearable, and Nicky holds up a hand to signal for TJ to calm down. He holds out his palm facing down a little in the universally recognized _calm down_ gesture, and TJ exhales deeply. Nicky swallows thickly and whispers, “Don’t worry so much.”

TJ breaks into a smile. “Hey, your voice works. That’s awesome.”

Technically, it still doesn’t work, but Nicky doesn’t really want to rasp his way through an explanation of how the larynx vibrates and the mechanics of whispering. It would hurt too much, and it would be pointless. It makes something warm settle in Nicky’s chest that TJ said _your voice works_ , and not _you can talk_. It’s a small distinction, but TJ made it; Nicky could always talk. He just used his hands to do it.

He swallows again, intending to speak, but before the words come out he chokes around some phlegm, and leans over to cough. It takes a while to get his breathing under control, and by the time he straightens, he can feel tears around the edges of his eyes. Not tears of frustration, just tears from the force of his coughing.

Oddly enough, TJ doesn’t look horrified like Nicky knows Alex would. He’s just patiently waiting, regarding Nicky with the same interest as usual but not staring or frowning. Belatedly, Nicky realizes that TJ’s probably seen this before with Andre, Jakub, and others; TJ’s not going to constantly ask Nicky if he’s okay, not going to look at him with fear and pity in his eyes. Relief courses through Nicky’s veins, and he climbs into the Jeep.

Neither of them attempts to communicate during the drive; it’s too loud for Nicky to attempt more whispering, and since TJ can’t take his eyes off the road for extended periods of time, he doesn’t use his hands to talk. TJ turns on some rock music and Nicky listens to it with relish, sticking his head out of the window and feeling the cold wind whip against his face. It’ll probably rain soon. In the distance, there’s a clap of thunder.

The town is exactly as Alex described. Once TJ stops the Jeep, they both get out, and Nicky watches TJ consult a paper he got out of his pocket. “So, cat food is the main thing we need. The wet kind,” TJ says. He puts the note back in his pocket. “I can get that, we can meet up back at the Jeep if you want.”

Nicky doesn’t want. He wants to be at TJ’s side, wants to get to know him. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he wants to spend time with someone who doesn’t look at him with disgust or fear. Maybe that makes him selfish, being too tired to constantly reassure Alex that he’s going to be fine—maybe it just makes him normal, not constantly desiring the concern of others. He shakes his head.

“Okay,” TJ says, not questioning it. He leads Nicky to the store, where he chats with the shaggy-haired young man lounging in the corner with a book while Nicky explores the store. When he finds the wet cat food, he stacks it up in a cylindrical tower and lets it lean against his chest. He walks over to TJ and the shaggy-haired guy. “This is Alex’s boyfriend, Nicky,” TJ says to the shaggy-haired guy, and Nicky almost swallows his tongue.

“Yeah?” the guy answers before grinning at Nicky. “Alex is cool. I met him a few days ago. I’m Tom.”

 _Boyfriend, boyfriend, TJ called me Alex’s boyfriend_ , Nicky’s mind chants loudly. All of the mental discipline it took him to get through medical school has flown out the window—his mind just chants that B-word again and again in a mixture of excitement and trepidation.

“His voice isn’t really back,” TJ explains, gracefully covering up Nicky’s weird stunned silence. “He can sort of whisper, but it makes him hurt and cough, and if Alex thinks I pressured Nicky into talking, he’ll toss me off the top of Eagle’s Nest.” He laughs, clearly making a joke, but Nicky hopes TJ doesn’t genuinely worry about Alex being overprotective, and then cringes again; Alex _is_ overprotective. He’s got reason to be, but they’re going to have to talk about that. It made sense when it was just the two of them against literally the whole world, but now, it looks weird and unhealthy.

“Well, nice to meet you anyway,” Tom says, totally free of awkwardness as he shrugs his massive shoulders. “Get well soon.”

Nicky nods in thanks and TJ gently takes some of the cat food from him so he doesn’t have to carry it all. He heads out the door back onto the gravel, and Nicky follows his lead.

As soon as they get back to the Jeep to start loading up the cat food, the sky opens up and follows through with its threats of rain. TJ looks like he’s going to get back in the Jeep, but Nicky isn’t ready to head to Eagle’s Nest—he still wants to see more of the town, so he heads back over to the front of the convenience store, where gas pumps are covered by the typical gas station overhang. Every pump has a bag on it, and out of order signs in various states of decay. Nicky sits down on the curb, watching the rain.

TJ joins him before too long, giving Nicky some personal space while still sitting beside him. The wind blows the shower to one side. He doesn’t know if he’ll be heard over the sounds of the drops, but he tries anyway, whispering as loudly as he can without coughing. “You try so hard to—” he whispers before he starts coughing.

“Hey,” TJ utters, scooting much closer to Nicky. “You can talk right into my ear, I don’t mind.”

Nicky wonders if TJ’s only handsy with Alex or if he’s that way with everyone. Either way, TJ seems absolutely comfortable, so Nicky just takes him at his word and leans in. “You try so hard to make me like you,” Nicky whispers, close enough to watch TJ’s eyelashes as he blinks, close enough that he’s sure his breath is rushing across TJ’s cheek. “I like you. Don’t worry.”

TJ pulls away enough to look at Nicky. They’re still close together, and there’s no disgust or fear in TJ’s eyes, even though Nicky knows he still looks slightly infected. He expects TJ to ask him about Alex, if he and Alex are together; he doesn’t want to, but he’ll have to explain that entire story sometime. About how he was afraid to tell Alex everything, afraid that if even if Alex accepted him, that they’d both get careless and Nicky would miss an injection. Afraid he’d lose his mind and kill Alex.

“Do you think Devante is a failure?” TJ asks, frowning slightly.

The question is so unexpected that Nicky runs over it a few times in his head. Eventually, when TJ just keeps frowning at him, Nicky leans back in and speaks nearly against TJ’s ear. “Of course not. He saved my life. He saved a lot of lives. Why would you ask that?”

TJ’s frown fades, although he looks wary. “Alex says you think you’re a failure of a doctor because you couldn’t save everyone all by yourself, and you ran away so they wouldn’t kill you.”

Nicky draws away, pulling his arms closer to his body and looking away from TJ. He hadn’t anticipated this—Alex sharing Nicky’s secrets. He doesn’t respond, and considers feigning that his voice has gone back out.

“Devante had _help_ , Nicky,” TJ says, voice considerably gentler. “He got here and the house was already safe. We got the radio running and were able to talk to doctors in other places. We have networks that we check in with, and he went on the road a few times to different hospitals.” He reaches out and touches Nicky’s knee. “Nobody could have done all this on their own. I couldn’t. That’s why I set up the radio, why I made runs into town with other people so I could find survivors. Nobody can do all this on their own.”

Nicky feels a weird lump in his throat and has to swallow around it, sending him into another coughing fit. TJ just waits him out, hand solid on his knee. They both look out blankly at the rain until Nicky can breathe normally. He leans in and whispers to TJ, “I did everything alone before Alex.”

The very specific language isn’t lost on TJ and he raises his eyebrows. “You mean even before the outbreak?”

Nicky nods, swallowing painfully again. He wants to tell TJ about how he’s changed, about how Alex taught him what it is to trust another person, what it is to be willing to risk his life for someone again and again. If he could, he’d tell TJ how much it hurt to keep Alex at a distance and how terrified he was that Alex would leave him if he knew everything. He’d explain that he knew how fucking stupid it all looked in hindsight—that Alex had constantly been hurt by Nicky’s distance, but rarely been hurt by _Nicky_ —but that’s so many words. Whispering _hurts_.

“I love Alex,” he whispers, and it’s not really enough. He wants to promise TJ that he won’t hurt Alex anymore, that he’d given up on the distance as soon as he’d let Alex into the basement. He swallows. “I was wrong about a lot of things.”

“Babe, we all were,” TJ murmurs, and he sounds like he means it. “If I could go back and change things, I would, y’know? All that shit I used to worry about seems so dumb now.” He rubs Nicky’s back with his hand, and Nicky decides TJ simply enjoys physical touch, and that it’s not a strictly Alex-related habit. Before the outbreak, Nicky would pull away. Now, he relishes the contact—it means TJ doesn’t find him disgusting and isn’t afraid of him. “You and Alex have time to figure things out.”

Nicky leans in and whispers near the shell of TJ’s ear, “I see why Alex missed you. You’re a good person.”

Immediately, TJ’s ears and cheeks turn deep pink and he shrugs, withdrawing his hand. He seems mortified at the compliment, genuinely uncomfortable with praise and Nicky’s heart melts just a little more. He used to be surrounded by a lot of doctors that thought they walked on clouds, and it’s completely refreshing to be around someone so modest that he is embarrassed when praised.

“Nah, I’m just, uh,” TJ mumbles. “Well, I had some skills, you know, since I was young, so I thought I’d… anyway, Eagle’s Nest was a huge effort with so many people helping me, I really didn’t do any of this on my own, uh—but, like.” He turns to glance at Nicky, looking almost shy. “I’m glad you think that. I really want you to like me, I want us to get along.”

Nicky’s heart clenches painfully at the naked vulnerability in TJ’s words. Nobody talks like that past childhood, at least in Nicky’s experience, but TJ’s just laying it out there. It makes Nicky want to lay something out there too, something for TJ. He knows immediately what he wants to say, but he has to stare at the rain blankly a little bit before he gets up the courage to pull TJ a bit closer.

“Before we came to Eagle’s Nest, I thought I would be killed right when people saw me. I looked so infected.” Nicky glances down at his hands without even meaning to. They almost look normal again. It’s vaguely disquieting; he’s used to the veiny, LV2-ridden look of his body. By this point, looking normal is a bit disarming.

TJ nods a little, looking out at the rain. “Yeah, that makes sense.” He squeezes Nicky’s knee briefly. “Crazy. I was so worried you wouldn’t like me, and you were worried you’d either die or get murked.”

Put like that, it does sound a little crazy. Nicky takes a guess at what “murked” means and nods. Neither of them speaks for a while, watching as the rain washes all of the dirt road dust off of TJ’s Jeep. Nicky’s knees start complaining and he stands up, stretching.

“Ready to go?” TJ asks, and Nicky nods.

They get rained on while they walk over to the Jeep, but Nicky doesn’t mind; the cool water feels nice against his face, a refreshing change from the last eighteen months of taking sponge baths out of bottles and constantly feeling dirty, hot, cold, or stale. Bottled water tasted and smelled like plastic, and rainwater was at least fresher than that, even if it wasn’t as clean.

“Wait,” TJ blurts as soon as he’s buckled himself into the driver’s seat. From the look on his face, Nicky can tell that TJ’s realized what Nicky _actually_ just told him. “You still came anyway. You thought you’d get murked but you came to Eagle’s Nest with Alex anyway.”

Nicky buckles himself in and whispers, “I told him to go without me. He wouldn’t.”

TJ watches Nicky carefully, and it takes all of Nicky’s willpower to not break eye contact. This is important; this is honest. “Why did you still come, then?” TJ asks.

“I wanted Alex to be safe, to have people.” Nicky’s whisper is quiet compared to the constant pattering of heavy rain on the metal roof.

It’s clear that TJ can still hear him, though, because his eyes widen. Or, more importantly—he can hear what Nicky’s _not_ saying, _not_ admitting. As ill as Nicky had looked, even if he hadn’t been heading into stage 2, it was likely he would have been killed on sight, even if Alex had tried to explain first. But Nicky couldn’t just—what, stay in that house with Alex forever? Knowing there were other survivors? Not a chance. Alex deserved a good life.

“Oh, babe,” TJ says, exhaling in a whoosh as he speaks. “You really do love him, huh?”

Nicky nods solemnly, silently admitting he’d accepted the risk of being “murked”—he’d have to ask Alex about that word later—in exchange for knowing Alex was safe. Sharing emotions has never been his strong suit, and sharing something like that is absolutely exhausting.

A wave of lethargy grasps him as the adrenaline fades. He feels like he’s just taken an oscillating saw to his own sternum, split the halves of his rib cage with a retractor, and let TJ take a look at his veiny, infected, slowly-beating heart.

“You’re a good person,” TJ murmurs, echoing Nicky’s words from earlier. Nicky’s eyes immediately dampen and he covers them with his hands, slouching down into himself. TJ just rubs Nicky’s back reassuringly and waits him out, not pressuring him to speak or sign.

They sit there together in the front seats of the Jeep as the rain patters on the roof, watching the drops until they taper off into a sprinkle. During the ride home, TJ doesn’t turn the music on and drives at a steady speed so that Nicky can fall asleep.

 

-

 

Even though Nicky can still only whisper, it’s nice to at least whisper in Swedish. Andre and Jakub share a room and speak a mixture of Swedish and English when nobody else is around, and Nicky likes hearing them talk together so much that he volunteers to help them make dinner.

“Jakub is in love with your boyfriend,” Andre announces in Swedish as he chops a pepper.

Nicky snorts in startled laughter, immediately aspirating on his own saliva and bending over to cough. Neither Jakub nor Andre seems fazed at all by anything Nicky does, and it’s unbelievably relieving. They’ve been through it all. The novelty of seeing a sick person has worn off. He knows that if he asked for help, they’d give it, but otherwise they don’t even look twice at him.

“I hate you,” Jakub tells Andre, but there’s no heat in his tone.

When Nicky straightens up, Andre continues talking, absolutely ignoring Jakub. “The thing is, it makes sense that Jakub’s obsessed with TJ, because TJ literally saved our lives. Like, okay. It makes sense to get all bonered up about a fit guy that saves your life.”

Jakub’s face is red but he’s smiling, like the embarrassment is more pleasant than anything. “I’m not _bonered_ _up_ ,” he protests, but his heart isn’t in it.

“I thought,” Nicky starts in a whisper to Jakub, choking again for a while before continuing haltingly, “that Andre saved. Your life. You were in. Stage two.” He has to pause after every couple syllables to keep from aspirating again. It’s not at all dignified, but nobody seems to care.

“He did, he—” Jakub starts.

He is immediately interrupted by Andre. “All I did was drag his ass out into the sun so the Jeep could pick us up. I heard signs of life and made sure he didn’t just curl up in the dark or something.”

So the answer is yes, he literally did save Jakub’s life, even if he doesn’t seem to want to take credit for it. Nicky glances at Jakub’s pink cheeks and lack of anger despite his embarrassment. If Jakub has a history of being “bonered up” (Nicky will have to ask Alex about that one, too) for men that save his life, maybe there’s something he hasn’t told Andre.

Andre hands Jakub an onion and Nicky a squash. They all get to cutting again, and Andre continues his indictment of Jakub’s taste in men. “So him being in love with TJ makes sense. And then Alex comes in and suddenly TJ’s crying and awestruck so Jakub thinks Alex must be the strongest guy ever, right? If he can make TJ act like that.”

“I’m just being nice to TJ’s old friend,” Jakub protests, sounding like he’s about to laugh. “It’s called _manners_.”

Andre snorts derisively. “It’s called _flirting_ ,” he shoots back, and for a moment, his tone is laced with something sharp and metallic, barely covered up with the teasing tone. As if he heard it himself, Andre immediately adds, “He’s taken, you know, and we all cringe seeing you flirt with a guy that’s taken.” This time, his tone is back to teasing, that harshness entirely gone.

Nicky pours his freshly-chopped pepper into the pan and reaches for another, glancing at Jakub to see if he’d heard the nasty edge to Andre’s tone. Jakub’s eyes are watery, his eyes bloodshot, but he’s still grinning. It’s so baffling that Nicky has to whisper, “Are you okay?”

Jakub immediately looks up, surprised. “Me? Yeah.” He stares blankly at Nicky before blurting, “Oh! The onion. Cutting onions makes me cry.”

At least he doesn’t seem like he noticed Andre’s anger. Andre looks over then, too, and before Nicky can say anything, Andre gets a washcloth, soaks it, and starts dabbing gently at Jakub’s eyes. “I can do it,” Jakub squawks, startled.

“And put your oniony hands right against your eyes? You idiot,” Andre says, tone gentle.  

 _Jealousy_ , Nicky thinks; that’s what was in Andre’s voice. Oddly enough, it makes his chest feel a little warm. He gently reaches out and takes the cutting board with the onion on it and finishes it himself; once Jakub’s eyes have stopped running, Andre dries his face off. They’re both unusually quiet during that, and Nicky wonders how many things Andre did for Jakub that Jakub can’t even remember.

The silence breaks when Andre steps back and sets the washcloth aside, going back to chopping. This time, he hands Jakub a potato instead of another onion. “We’re going to New Washington soon,” he tells Nicky, apropos of nothing.

Nicky gets conversational whiplash from the way Andre entirely dropped the topic of Jakub’s crush on Alex. It takes him a moment to catch up, and wonders if Andre did that on purpose. “Permanently?” Nicky asks softly, taking a potato to chop up.

“Yeah. We still want to visit, but it’s time. Sidney and Geno are going to go soon, too.” Andre grins. “Although Geno’s going to keep coming back as long as the kittens are still here. As soon as they’re okay being split up from their mom, he’s going to come here and get at least one, mark my words.”

Nicky’s still not used to Geno’s apparent soft spot for small, helpless kittens; he’d have pegged Geno as more of a dog person, or even a reptile guy. Maybe the end of the world had made Geno desperate to see new life, a glimmer of hope provided by babies, even feline babies. Maybe Geno hadn’t seen anything living for a long time, and the sight of any animal is enough to bring him to his knees. Then again, maybe Geno just liked cats.

“He can have a couple,” Nicky whispers. “But I’m keeping Mama.”

“When you come back to get her, we’ll ride in the car with you,” Andre says. “Jakub will jump at the chance to get to be crammed up against his dream man Alex for the whole car ride.”

“He’s so big,” Jakub says, sounding awestruck even as he chops his potato. “Too big for the back seat.” His eyes widen as if suddenly realizing something. “Can Alex drive stick shift?” he asks Nicky, stumbling over the Swedish a little bit. Nicky nods, and Jakub smiles widely. “Great! Andre can’t, I can’t. Maybe he can teach us.”

At that, Andre puts down his knife. “I’m getting more yellow squash,” he mutters, heading through the kitchen awning and letting the front door slam shut behind him.

Jakub watches Andre go and then turns to look at the giant bag of vegetables brought in from the garden. “But we have enough,” he protests, even though Andre is long out of earshot.

Nicky wonders if he himself looked that clueless before he and Alex had kissed, if both he and Alex were so truly oblivious to something that would have seemed obvious to anyone else. Maybe he’s off-base with his suspicions about Andre and Jakub, and even if he’s not, it’s none of his business in the first place. He concentrates on chopping vegetables and resolves not to pry into their personal business.

Even so, when Andre comes back in, Nicky keeps an eye on Jakub’s expression. When Andre grabs Jakub’s hips to gently move him out of the way, Nicky’s not surprised at all when Jakub’s ears pinken.

 

-

 

Nicky wakes up choking again, wheezing as he flops over onto his hands and knees. By some miracle, Alex doesn’t stir, and Nicky drags himself out of the room before he erupts in loud coughing. It takes him a few minutes to get back down to the VIP Lounge, and once he gets there, Braden’s there to greet him at the door. “Heard you coming,” he explains, handing Nicky an old plastic bowl.

Immediately, Nicky sits down on the edge of his old bed and coughs into the bowl, leaning all the way over so the mucus and saliva flow towards his mouth and he can huff them out. It’s absolutely disgusting, he knows. He starts getting dizzy pretty quickly, but he can _breathe_.

“Should I get Alex?” comes Devante’s voice from behind Nicky.

Nicky tries not to actually glare at Devante, but he twists around to shakes his head. The look on his face must be ridiculous—flushed, veiny, and contemptuous, because Devante bursts out laughing. “I’m just kidding,” Devante chuckles.

The relief courses through Nicky’s veins even as he leans down to cough more into the bowl. After the panic has subsided, he remembers his earlier conversation with TJ. Once his trachea feels clear enough, he leans up and twists around again to whisper to Devante. “I don’t—” he starts, and abruptly stops talking, startled. What used to come out as a whisper is now coming out as talking. His larynx is back on board. “Fuck,” he blurts, forgetting himself.

“You don’t fuck?” Devante asks, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise. “Alex doesn’t put out?”

Nicky smiles stupidly at the joke, because right now he’d smile at anything—his voice is back. He clears his throat and starts again. “I don’t know how to thank you,” he says, voice deeper and hoarser than it used to be. “You saved my life.”

Oddly, Devante doesn’t look flattered. “I heard you feel pretty guilty for leaving your patients behind.” He doesn’t sound accusing, just contemplative. “I left mine behind, too, once I had done everything I could.”

Nicky sees, now, how stupid he was to think he should have stayed. There was nothing he could have done. But he was alone, and then he kept it all a secret, and he was afraid and angry and in love and—and he clears his throat and clarifies quietly, “I felt guilty. I lived. A lot of people didn’t.”

“What is it with doctors thinking they walk on water?” Braden asks, sounding tired. “I swear to God, you guys think the world revolves around you.” He looks at Nicky in exasperation. “Do you seriously think that you’re the one magic doctor that could’ve fixed it all? That this global pandemic could’ve been fixed if you, Dr. Nicky, had just worked a little harder? That it never occurred to anyone else that—”

“He gets it,” Devante interrupts, humor returning to his voice.

Nicky bends over to cough more into the bowl, adding more fluid to the murky mixture. Once he can breathe, he sits back up. The orthostatic hypotension grips him with a vengeance and Devante steadies him with a hand against the center of his back. Nicky clears his throat and rasps, “You know what you’re talking about,” to Braden.

“He’s given that speech to me a few times.” Devante rubs between Nicky’s shoulder blades in soothing circles.

“One time, a surgeon threw a scalpel at me for setting up his tray right-handed instead of left-handed,” Braden huffs irritably. “The egos on doctors. Unreal.”

Nicky smiles and leans back down to cough more, listening as Braden and Devante exchange stories above him. By the time he’s done getting all the crud out of his windpipe, he’s exhausted but comfortable. He falls asleep right there on the bed, Devante and Braden both watching over him.

 


	10. gray-green eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The irises are in full bloom where they’re planted in the shade, blue and white and purple and even red—Alex hasn’t seen red irises before. Without thinking, he shuffles over and runs his finger lightly over the dark crimson petals. “I thought these were impossible to grow,” he says.
> 
> “Nicky managed to grow one,” Zhenya says, and smirks cockily at Alex’s annoyed expression. “See, it’s an English play on words—”
> 
> “I fucking know what it is. I didn’t know your English was that good.” The petals are delicate under the pads of Alex’s fingers.

#  TEN. ALEX.

 

**NOW**

Alex wakes up without Nicky beside him. For just a moment, he’s certain that Nicky went on one of his mysterious day trips, and that he’ll be back just before dark and he’ll never tell Alex where he was, and the thought of it makes his heart hurt a little. Fortunately, it only takes a few seconds for his brain to actually kick in gear and remind him where he really is.

Without wasting any time, he bounds noisily down the stairs. As usual, Sidney gives him a dirty look, and Alex answers with a beaming smile. The kitchen is warm despite the slight chill gripping the air; Alex guesses it’s the heat of the oven. Nicky is at the table doing a crossword puzzle and for the first time in years, Alex wishes he had a camera, or any way to develop or view photos. He wants to preserve this image of Nicky looking focused on something that’s absolutely pointless and will not affect anyone’s odds of survival one bit. He wants to go over and kiss Nicky until he’s too breathless to cough. He wants to see which one of them can finish the crossword faster, wants to show that he’s a smart guy despite his lack of TJ-level nature know-how. He doesn’t want to interrupt, though, so he leaves Nicky alone.

Jakub and Andre are hunched over something on the stovetop. Alex makes his way over to them and drapes an arm around each of their shoulders. “What are you making?” he asks when he doesn’t see the usual stir-fry in the pan.

“Blini,” Jakub says shyly, ears pink. He adds in halting Russian, “Do you like blini?”

Alex blinks at him. “How many languages you speak?” he blurts. He keeps it in English so Andre will understand.

“Oh, no, uh, my Russian is just okay, just some,” Jakub responds, also in English. His ears are flaming pink. It’s very cute.

Alex turns to Andre, eyebrows raised. “He’s so smart!”

Andre rolls his eyes and doesn’t pause in his cooking. “Before he got infected, he thought it was good idea to make a fire to keep warm, and burn the fire all night. He’s not smart.”

“I was cold,” Jakub protests, frowning slightly.

Alex feels a strange urge of protectiveness for a past version of Jakub that he never even met. “Did a freak find you?” he asks, resting a hand on Jakub’s shoulder.

Jakub’s pinkness doesn’t fade as he answers haltingly, “No, uh. Andre found me, that’s how we meet.”

Across the room, Nicky looks up. Alex wonders if his intense awareness of Nicky’s every move will ever fade; wonders if it’s a type of post-traumatic stress.

Andre keeps his eyes on what he’s doing as he explains, “I had to tell him to kill the fire. The infected would get him.” He flips the blini with a spatula clearly not meant for this purpose. “I wasn’t infected yet.”

Nicky lets out a weird gasp and starts coughing. By now, Alex has figured out that Nicky doesn’t like to be stared at when he hacks away, so he ignores it. Instead, he glances between Andre and Jakub, addressing them both. “So you save him before you’re infected, you save him when he’s in stage two, you both stay together… so romantic,” he says, tone heartfelt.

The coughing across the room intensifies and Andre and Jakub both shake their heads wildly, speaking at once to get across their denial. “No, no,” Andre says, just as Jakub blurts, “We are only friends,” and Nicky waves his arms in the air to get Alex’s attention.

When Alex and Nicky make eye contact, Nicky keeps coughing but gestures between Andre and Jakub, holds an L up to his heart, gestures to Andre and Jakub again, opens and closes his fingers against his thumb several times, and then shakes his head. _Andre and Jakub – love – Andre and Jakub – speak – no_.

Alex’s skill at interpreting Nicky’s signing hasn’t deteriorated a bit. It only takes him a minute to parse the sentence: _Andre and Jakub love each other, but they don’t say it_.

“Oh, my bad,” he says to Andre and Jakub, rolling up his sleeves and washing his hands so he can help cook. “I see me and Nicky, two men together. Sidney and Geno, two men together. I just thought you guys together too. I know not everyone is bisexual like me.” He remembers his disastrous coming-out conversation with Nicky and hastily adds, “Or gay. Like Nicky.” He realizes that maybe Nicky had never formally come out to the entirety of Eagle’s Nest and looks at Nicky with an apologetic look that’s met with one of calm amusement. “Sorry, Nicky,” he murmurs.

“But I am,” Jakub blurts. “I mean, bisexual. Like you, Alex.”

On Alex’s left side, Andre has entirely frozen. Alex braces himself for some homophobic nonsense, but Andre startles him by looking over at Jakub with something like wonder in his eyes. “Really? You never…”

Jakub’s ears are so pink that Alex feels like he should ice them down. “Yeah, uh,” Jakub mumbles. “Is that… okay? That I’m…” He heaves a deep sigh like he’s nervous for some reason. “Uh, bi.”

“It’s okay,” Andre says, and he’s looking back down at the cutting board but Alex can hear a smile in his voice. “It’s so okay. Very great.”

“God give me strength,” Alex mumbles in Russian, glancing up at the heavens in exasperation.

“Are you okay?” Jakub replies immediately, also in Russian. Shit, Alex had forgotten.

He’s about to answer when across the kitchen, Nicky says, “Alex,” with his actual voice. Not whispering—speaking. It’s arresting, and Alex’s eyes fix on Nicky’s face. “Come here,” Nicky continues, voice soft. He doesn’t even say please, doesn’t even make it a request. He’s regaining his confidence, and Alex would fucking _crawl_ across the room if Nicky asked him to—he’d do anything to keep that note of poise and strength in Nicky’s voice.

He immediately makes his way over to the table, leaving his cooking forgotten. He sits down next to Nicky, scooting his chair closer so their sides are pressed together.

“Ten down,” Nicky says, and Alex blinks at him stupidly until Nicky taps his fingertip against the crossword he’s doing. Alex can’t resist pecking Nicky on the cheek before wrapping an arm around his shoulders and turning to look down at the puzzle. In his peripheral vision, he can see that Nicky is beaming.

 

-

 

The kittens get more capable by the day. Alex watches as they look different, seemingly hourly—one second they’re all white, and the next they’ve got gray starting to decorate their extremities. Their eyes open and Alex catches his breath at their shade of blue. They stumble around Sidney and Geno’s room clumsily, constantly meowing and falling over. As the chill takes hold, Geno gets neurotic about making sure Mama and the kittens are warm enough. Nobody makes fun of him for it.

Mama still loves Nicky the most of all. Despite the fact that everyone else talks to Mama, trying to win her over, Nicky stays silent when he’s with her. Something about it turns Alex’s heart, and he watches from where he’s seated on Sidney and Geno’s bed as Nicky scratches behind Mama’s ears as she squirms happily in his lap. Nicky’s veins are receding and he’s wearing a red plaid flannel button-down borrowed from Braden. The kittens squirm around and meow as they clumsily explore the room.

“Nicky,” Alex murmurs, solely to get Nicky to look at him. When he gets Nicky’s attention, he points at him, shakes his head, and makes a talking gesture with his fingers against his thumb. Then, he holds an invisible cat, and gives Nicky question eyebrows.

Nicky hesitates and looks down at Mama. He lets go of her before pointing at her, shaking his head, making the talking gesture and then touching his own sternum. He holds up two fingers and then goes back to petting her. _Mama – no – talk – me – two._

Alex swallows a little, because Nicky just said, _Mama doesn’t talk to me, either._

He wants to keep using his hands, but Nicky’s not looking at him. He swallows thickly and murmurs, “You think maybe she’s scared if you talk?”

Nicky nods, tucking his hair behind his ear and watching as one of the kittens makes its way back towards Mama.

Alex’s chest clenches a little bit. “She still loves you if you talk. You saved her. She loves you,” he says, attempting a reassuring tone and hoping that he doesn’t sound neurotic.

Nicky makes eye contact, frowning slightly. He points at Mama and then holds his hands up like he’s trying to hide behind them and touches his own chest, doing the talking gesture with his free hand. _Mama – afraid – me – talk_. 

“You’re still the same guy,” Alex insists, trying to get Nicky to understand. “She’s not afraid of you if you talk, she’s maybe afraid of life changing but—”

“Alex,” Nicky interrupts. He’s speaking softly but using his voice, and his lips are curved in a gentle smile. “She’s a _cat_.” Mama predictably becomes upset at this turn of events and climbs out of Nicky’s lap, picking up one of the kittens by the scruff of its neck and carrying it back to the little nest in the closet. Nicky doesn’t look distressed by this at all. “Why are you so upset?”

Alex crosses his arms protectively over his chest before he realizes what he’s doing and drops them awkwardly. “Just don’t want you to feel bad,” he says, even though it’s not entirely accurate. He doesn’t even have words for what’s wrong, and suddenly feels like he’s acting ridiculous, being more worried about Nicky’s feelings than even Nicky is.

Of course, as always, Alex can’t hide anything from Nicky. Nicky could literally hide the fucking Titanic from Alex, but it doesn’t go the other way around. “Change can be scary,” Nicky murmurs.

Alex swallows thickly. He wants to look away, but after so long trying not to ever look away from Nicky, he can’t avert his gaze. His lips tighten and he runs his hands awkwardly against the quilt he’s sitting on. “I’m fucked up,” he blurts without thinking it through.

Nicky snorts in a kind way. “We all are.”

It’s ugly and it’s embarrassing but Alex can’t stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth. “I miss when we were at our house. Shopping trips. Using our language.” He wishes he could stop fucking talking. “Telling movies, just you and me.” He stops speaking for a moment until he’s sure his voice won’t shake. “I know that’s bad. You were sick. We were alone. I love TJ.” He bites his tongue—he hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that, even if Nicky had already known how Alex felt about TJ. “I’m happy we’re here. I don’t know why I’m—it’s fucked up.”

Nicky’s eyes are huge and glassy. He’s probably repulsed, just as he should be. “You miss when I was sick, and we were alone?”

Alex hunches over a little, wrapping his arms around his stomach. “I’m so happy you’re healthy, I just… I was happy then, and I’m happy now, but—I know, I’m fucked up, it’s like life was so simple then, and—I don’t want to go back, life is better now, you’re safe—but I was so happy. With you. We used our language, we were always together, you were so beautiful—I mean, you still beautiful, I—”

“I love you, Alex,” Nicky interrupts, and maybe it’s the first time he’s ever said it out loud but that doesn’t even matter to Alex anymore. The only thing that worries him is the way Nicky’s rasping as he adds, “I can’t… I can’t believe you miss how I looked.” He swallows thickly and stumbles to his feet, crossing the floor and pushing Alex down onto his back so he can wrap himself against Alex’s side. The next time he speaks, it’s in a whisper; this time, Alex suspects it’s because he’s crying, and not because of the LV2. “Change is scary for me, too. You don’t need me anymore.”

Alex inhales to protest that he never actually _needed_ Nicky—the fact is, he’d survived for eight months before meeting Nicky, and would have survived for more without him. Before the words come out, though, he remembers his mental state at that time. The stress, the isolation, the desperation. The way he’d cried just at the sight of Nicky’s smile. He needed Nicky, even if he could have lived without him. _Need_ is a strange word, he decides, and pets Nicky’s hair.

“I don’t need you anymore,” Alex murmurs. Predictably, Nicky tenses up, but Alex doesn’t let him pull away. “But I want you. It’s better.” He doesn’t know how to articulate it as well as he wants, but gives it his best shot. “After the outbreak, when I was alone, I needed anyone. But now, I want you. Only you.”

Nicky lets out a shaky sigh, and Alex runs his fingers through Nicky’s hair. The room falls mostly quiet, silence broken only by gusts of wind rattling the panes of the windows and the sounds of the kittens meowing to each other. Nicky’s over-taxed body and mind doesn’t take long to coax him to sleep. Once it’s clear he’s deep into his nap, Alex closes his eyes, too.

 

-

 

They move away from Eagle’s Nest a few days later, when the leaves on the trees are shot with gold and red. TJ explains that they should settle into their new home in New Washington before winter comes. When Alex tearfully hugs him goodbye, TJ laughs at him for being overdramatic. “I’ll see you all the time!” he shouts joyfully as Alex gets into the sedan that someone got from the city.

They’re not the only ones moving; Geno and Sidney are in the backseat, pressed together and chatting softly. The car is a stick shift, so Alex drives. It’s just as well. Nicky gets too tired too frequently, anyway. Leaves crunch under the car tires as they make their way to New Washington. It’s not far from Eagle’s Nest, and it’s in a relatively straight line, but Alex makes sure to follow TJ’s instructions to the letter. The trunk is full of all of their things, everything the four of them still owned in this world. It all fit into the back of a sedan.

Despite how brief the trip is, Nicky still manages to fall asleep halfway through. Alex parks exactly where TJ parked the last time they went to New Washington. Sidney and Geno get out, opening the trunk and getting their stuff. Alex gently squeezes Nicky’s hand to wake him up, and once Nicky’s started stirring, he gets out of the car to get his things out of the trunk as well.

“Hey,” says a guy walking up to them from the direction of most of the houses. He’s got an X on his cheek and sandy blond hair. “Welcome. I’m Jack Johnson.”

TJ had told Alex about Jack. “I’m Alex,” he responds warmly. “TJ says you’re like a mayor.”

Jack chuckles. “He’s just being generous. It’s more like I’m the welcoming committee. I help people get settled into their new houses, make sure they have enough food, make sure everyone’s got some kind of job.”

Nicky gets out of the car looking groggy, but he smiles at Jack and shakes his hand anyway. When he stretches, many of his joints make loud pops, as if he’s been curled up in a car for ages. His joints may never be fully the same after LV2—but then again, Alex guesses Nicky’s around thirty, and Alex’s joints had gotten loud as hell by his mid-twenties.

After a moment, Alex realizes that everyone is staring at him. He has no idea how long he’s been just watching Nicky, listening to Nicky’s creaky joints. “This is Nicky,” Alex blurts awkwardly.

Jack introduces himself again before picking up a couple bags. “So, the four of you will be sharing a duplex. There’s a wall in the middle, but it’s got a door, in case you wanted to hang out.” He starts walking and the four of them follow, arms full of bags of donated clothes, food, and some crossword puzzle books for Sidney. (Geno had gotten them during an expedition to town when he was supposed to look for packets of seeds. When he’d presented them to Sidney, wrapped in an old paper bag, Sidney had kissed him in front of everyone. Everyone had been too shocked to react, except Andre, who made a whooping noise until Geno glared at him.)

“Good,” Alex says, and he really means it. It’s nice to speak Russian with someone.

Jack perks up. “TJ says you brought a pregnant cat with you and she had five kittens! Did you have the cat before the outbreak, or what?”

Nicky answers, “She was probably a cat in someone’s house before the outbreak. She wasn’t spayed. She maybe ran into another cat after the outbreak. I caught her, because her kittens made her slow.”

While Nicky speaks, Geno and Sidney are very quiet, Alex notices. They don’t talk between themselves, and they even seem to walk more quietly. It’s like they’re incredibly aware of how tenuous Nicky’s volume is, and they’re doing their best to make sure Nicky can get heard. It makes Alex’s heart clench in his chest, his breath catching in surprise and gratitude.

Jack nods and hums along like he’s actually listening. “Have you named them yet?”

“Alex named the mother cat.” Nicky grins at Alex a little. “He named her ‘Mama’ because Alex is a very creative person.”

Alex gasps in mock indignance. “You said that was okay!”

Nicky rolls his eyes even though his grin stays put. “I knew if I said no to ‘Mama,’ you’d just name her after yourself and call her Alexa.”

“I wouldn’t! If I call her Alexa then it wakes up Alexa every time we call her.” Alex sniffs haughtily. “I’m too smart for that.”

Sidney breaks into the conversation, eyebrows raised. “You think if you named the cat Alexa, it would be annoying because it would wake up your Amazon AI?”

“Yeah, because her name is Alexa.” Everyone’s staring at Alex and Jack has even stopped walking. “What?”

“The end of world. You forget?” Geno asks, in English this time for the benefit of the others. He’s grinning in an entirely rude way.

Alex is suddenly mortified. “Oh God. Alexa not listening anymore.”

Nicky laughs at him, then breaks into a coughing fit so bad that everyone stops walking. These days, Nicky leans all the way over; Alex guesses that this keeps fluid from running into his lungs. To his credit, Jack keeps behaving like nothing’s happening. “Did you name the kittens yet, though?”

“TJ named one Zach. He wants to keep Zach,” Alex says. He’s not entirely sure why anyone would want to name a cat Zach, but TJ hadn’t looked like he wanted to talk about it. Everyone just went with it, nodding along. TJ’s earned an unbelievable amount of trust here, which is just as it should be.

Geno reaches out and whaps firmly on Nicky’s back. Immediately, Alex jerks forward, yanking Geno’s hand right out of the air. “What the fuck are you doing?” he snaps in Russian.

Nicky wheezes and straightens a little, enough to reach out and hold Geno’s hand. He bends back over and lets go of Geno’s hand when it’s near his back again. Frowning at Alex, Geno resumes his firm smacking. “Chill the hell out. It helps shake all that shit loose from his lungs and windpipe.”

Alex feels his anger dissipate immediately and fade into embarrassment. “He didn’t ask you to do that,” he snaps back anyway, trying to keep his pride intact.

“He can’t _ask_ anyone to do _shit_ ,” Geno half-shouts back. “Look at him!”

“Hey, calm down,” Sidney chimes in, even though he definitely doesn’t speak Russian. He gently places a hand on Geno’s arm that immediately gets shrugged off.

“You shouldn’t hit without ask!” Alex goes back to English, even though he’s too annoyed to be as articulate as usual.

Sidney turns his frown on Alex this time. “He does ask. He asks Devante, and Braden, and Andre, and me. And Geno once, too. Stop yelling.”

The sense of betrayal is absolutely pointless and totally unwarranted but nevertheless, it feels almost like a physical slap. He quiets down and they all stand there in a horrible, awkward little half-circle as Nicky hacks up a lung and Geno strongly pats his back. It doesn’t look like it hurts but it’s making Nicky’s coughing worse, and Alex takes back what he thought before about it being nice to talk to someone in Russian. Alex itches to get Geno away from Nicky. Alex itches to push Geno off a cliff.

Sidney tries to salvage the mood by talking to Jack, sounding perilously uncomfortable. “I, ah, we… Geno and I are going to take two of the kittens. I named one Penguin and Geno named the other one Charging.”

Jack blinks and says after a moment, “Those are… interesting names.”

Sidney shifts his weight from foot to foot, glancing at Geno before looking back at Jack. “They’re Siamese kittens, and they’re really clumsy still. They’re black-and-white like penguins… more like gray, though, but they walk like penguins, too. I thought of a penguin when I was watching Penguin try to walk.” He looks at Geno and lets out a familiar sigh of exasperated affection. “You explain your own name, Geno, it only makes sense when you say it.”

Geno’s hits against Nicky’s back slow as Nicky’s choking decreases. He looks over at Jack and explains, “The world is bad. Dangerous. She have to charge through and be strong. I played hockey and they say I’m do charging all the time, sit in penalty box, but really, I’m prepare for zombies. Have to teach her to be strong.”

Jack smiles widely. “That’s a great name, then! Hey, if we make any contacts with other survivors up north, we should organize and make a hockey league! We could make a road trip up north and play some games.”

“I make all of you look stupid,” Geno says matter-of-factly. “I’m so good.”

Jack looks thrilled at the idea. “Awesome! Real competition!” He waves a hand. “Wait, go back, though. What are the other two kittens named?”

Nicky hacks up something onto the gravel—phlegm, mucus, something—and Alex watches with concern. Nobody answers Jack until Sidney answers hesitantly, “The other two don’t have names yet.”

“Oh,” Jack answers after a beat. “Well. We have time, I guess.”

Nicky straightens up and Geno’s hand falls away. His face is pink from the exertion of coughing and he wipes his mouth delicately with a tissue from his pocket. When he moves closer to Alex, Alex steps away and doesn’t look at Nicky, doesn’t want to see what Nicky might say to him.

Jack picks his bags back up and they all start shambling forward again down the gravelly street. Geno and Sidney talk quietly to each other. The clouds seem to get heavier, and Alex can smell rain coming. As if on cue, Jack stops in front of a symmetrical duplex and holds out a hand. “Welcome to your new home,” he says, smiling widely as if to make up for everyone else’s grouchiness.

“Sidney and me on left side,” Geno declares, and claps Jack on the shoulder. “Thanks!”

The left side is identical to the right, but Alex supposes Geno just wants to put his shit down and doesn’t really care which side they’re on. The four of them make their way into their duplex and once he’s opened the door, Alex takes a cursory glance at his new home sweet home.

It looks so generic and drab that he hates it right away. After thinking about it for a moment, though, he realizes that the personal touches were probably stripped away in an effort to not seem too morbid. He’ll have to add his own sparkle to the place, then, and he brightens at the idea. He walks back over to the open door and yells, “Thank you, Mayor Jack!”

Jack beams back at him. “You’re welcome! I’m down the street in another duplex, the left unit in the lavender house, knock if you’ve got any problems!”

Alex gives him a thumbs-up and goes back into the house, looking around the bathroom and bedroom. When he gets back to the living room, Nicky says, “Alex,” with a tone so hurt that Alex can’t ignore him this time.

“What,” he says gruffly, finally looking over at Nicky. Nicky’s plopped down on the gray couch, looking tired and ill.

“You won’t hit hard enough,” Nicky explains. His voice sounds like it’s a cassette deck with a dying battery.

“You kept a secret from me. Again.” Alex leans against the wooden media center. He remembers Nicky’s basement, and Nicky’s day-long solo trips, and Nicky’s mysterious past career. “Tired of secrets.”

Nicky exhales shortly through his nose. “I kept it secret because I knew you’d be like this. You got mad at Geno.”

“Because I thought he hits you for no reason!” Alex snaps back immediately.

At that, Nicky looks a bit cowed. Nevertheless, he keeps his expression stony as he informs Alex, “I don’t need to tell you about medical treatments. I don’t need permission. You can’t be mad that other people touch me. I’m sick. They treat me.”

Alex inhales to apologize, or clarify, or even just ask for a second to think, but Nicky’s eyes are steely as he continues quietly, “I don’t share beds or hold hands or be romantic with men that I’m not with. That’s _your_ thing, not mine.”

It feels like a harder blow than the smacks that Geno delivered on Nicky’s back. Alex knows nothing he can say will make any of it better, that literally every word that he wants to utter is going to just fuck everything up that much more. He grabs the front doorknob and snaps, “Fuck you,” before he goes outside, slamming the door behind himself.

He doesn’t know where to go—in his heart, he wants to go back to Eagle’s Nest, but doesn’t want to explain why he lasted about three minutes in New Washington before having a weird fight. Instead, he stalks off in the direction of the Memory Garden, thunder booming in the distance.

He makes it about five steps before he hears a door open and close. “Alex,” comes a booming voice speaking in Russian. “Tell me you’re not being that fucking stupid.”

Alex whirls around and glares. “The fuck are you talking about?”

Geno rolls his eyes and lopes across the gravel until he catches up to Alex. “It’s a duplex. We can hear you, especially if you’re yelling.”

Alex resumes his walk toward the garden, this time with Geno following. “It’s none of your business.”

“You started this whole shouting thing when I touched him, so it really is my business.” Alex has to silently concede that point, and Geno continues, “And there’s no fucking cable or anything, and I don’t have any books in Russian, so this is the best I can do for entertainment.”

“I bet the library has books in Russian. You should drive into the city and take some.” Alex focuses on the gravel crunching under the rubber soles of his shoes so that he won’t be plunged into memories of sitting at a table with Nicky, listening to the crisp rustle of pages as Nicky flipped through his dictionary. “What kind of a name is Geno, anyway.”

“Evgeni. Nice to meet you.” Evgeni holds out his hand to shake.

Alex sighs and shakes hands. “I’m Alex. If I ever start to like you, you can call me Sasha.”

“Cool. Usually in my head I call you ‘No Teeth Guy.’ Call me Zhenya.” Geno’s smiling when he says it all, though, and Alex finds himself unable to get annoyed.

They walk side by side toward the garden for a minute, the thunderclouds rolling to the west above their heads. The shade of gray keeps darkening but Alex would rather get rained on than go home. Zhenya’s the one that breaks the silence. “Cut him some slack. And before you start yelling again, Sidney’s over talking to Nicky, probably asking him to cut you slack, too.”

Alex folds his arms, which looks and feels awkward while walking. “He kept a lot of secrets from me until he was dying.” It’s an oversimplified version of the way they used to live, but he doesn’t want to give Zhenya all the details. He’s not even sure what the details are; everything happened so quickly toward the end of their time in the old house. “And it kept us apart.”

“But you’re together now,” Zhenya says.

“I mean. I guess.” Alex lets his arms drop.

“Us guys that hit his back, we do that so he can breathe, not because we’re trying to make a pass at him. You get that, right? I don’t have a fetish for people coughing up mucus.” Zhenya’s grinning a little bit.

“I know. It’s not—I get that, okay, maybe I couldn’t hit him as hard as he needs. It’s the secret part that I hate, it’s… I thought we were going to be honest with each other.” Alex feels another surge of anger when he remembers the latter part of the fight. “And he accused me of cheating on him with TJ, when I didn’t even—”

“Ugh, stop, I know,” Zhenya interrupts, sounding exasperated. “I heard it all, I’ve been there for it all. Just cool off and then go back home and talk about it with him, alright?” At Alex’s annoyed expression, Zhenya sighs. “You should apologize for some stuff, and he should apologize for saying that.”

Mollified, Alex feels some of the tension go out of his shoulders. He slows down as they get closer to the garden. The irises are in full bloom where they’re planted in the shade, blue and white and purple and even red—Alex hasn’t seen red irises before. Without thinking, he shuffles over and runs his finger lightly over the dark crimson petals. “I thought these were impossible to grow,” he says.

“Nicky managed to grow one,” Zhenya says, and smirks cockily at Alex’s annoyed expression. “See, it’s an English play on words—”

“I fucking know what it is. I didn’t know your English was that good.” The petals are delicate under the pads of Alex’s fingers.

“It’s not,” Zhenya admits shamelessly. “Sidney told me that joke pretty early on. He’s a nerd and likes crosswords, so I learn to put up with corny crap like that.”

Alex rolls his eyes. “You sound so in love.”

“I am,” Zhenya responds immediately, tone more genuine and sincere than anything Alex has heard from him yet.

The sky finally opens and unleashes fat drops of rain. Alex hustles over to stand under a tree, sitting down on a blank bench that he doesn’t remember seeing before. Zhenya follows, and they stay dry under the shelter of the leaves as the rain continues to fall. The flowers are bright under the gray sky, contrasting with the dullness of the gravel road and the mostly-taupe houses.

“Are there gray-green irises?” Alex asks.

“Only two, and Nicky’s got ‘em both,” Zhenya responds without missing a beat.

Alex cracks a smile and relaxes, listening to the thunder above.

 

-

 

When he gets home, Nicky and Sidney are sitting on the couch together while Nicky coughs into an empty mug. Sidney’s hand is cupped as he pounds on Nicky’s back, and while it still sounds like it might be too much, Alex realizes that maybe “too much” means something different when you’re that sick. He knows that sometimes healing hurts—pouring antiseptic into a wound, re-setting a broken bone—and knowing that is enough.

“Teach me,” he commands Sidney, sitting down on Nicky’s other side.

Sidney looks at him blankly and then peers down at the back of Nicky’s head. When Nicky nods, hacking away, Sidney holds up one hand in a cupped position. “Make your hand like this.”

Alex does so, and then Sidney gestures at areas of Nicky’s back. “On his ribs, where his lungs are. Not the low ribs, or the backbone, or the sternum.” He looks at Alex to make sure he’s listening and responds to Alex’s silent surprise. “Braden taught me, back when Jakub and Andre started getting better. It’s simple enough that you don’t have to be a doctor or nurse to do it.”

With his cupped hand, Alex cautiously starts patting Nicky’s back, slowly adding pressure to match Sidney. After a minute, Sidney stills his hand and Alex does too. “And now, uh, vibrate it,” Sidney explains. “His rib cage.”

Nicky hauls himself up into a seated position, face pink. There’s some gunk visible in the mug and Alex has to look away from it immediately or risk hurling. “I can tell him how,” Nicky rasps.

“Yeah. Yeah,” Sidney says, looking relieved. “I’m just gonna go,” he blurts before hastily retreating through the door that joins their duplex and closing it behind himself.

Nicky reaches out and positions Alex’s hands where he wants them. “Just vibrate your hands,” he murmurs, and Alex immediately does so. After some productive coughing into the mug, Nicky makes the _stop_ gesture, and Alex pulls back. The room suddenly seems very quiet.

After a few minutes of spitting into a cup while Alex stares at him, Nicky swallows and murmurs, “So sexy, I know.”

“I’m sorry I’m get so angry.” Alex barely remembers what he was so mad about. “You don’t need to ask me for medical things. It’s not… I’m sorry.”

Nicky puts the gross mug down and keeps his gaze on the floor. “What I said about TJ… I didn’t mean it.” He pushes his hair back with a hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you sorry for keeping secret?” Alex prods, because it’s going to hang over him forever if he doesn’t think he can trust Nicky. He’s so, so tired of feeling like Nicky’s playing chess while Alex is playing checkers. Or, more accurately, tic-tac-toe.

“Yeah, but I—TJ is so healthy. Physically, mentally. Emotionally. He’s loving, he’s happy.” Nicky’s voice sounds unbearably heavy. “He doesn’t have to have people beat his back to get crap out of his lungs.”

Alex takes a while to make the connection and then groans. “Are you fucking serious?” He slumps down in frustration, rubs his hands across his face and then frowns at the ceiling so he won’t frown at Nicky. “How many times I have to say? I want to know. I want to help. I don’t think you’re gross, I don’t feel annoyed—I learned whole language to talk to you, I don’t think you’re bad for having LV2, I don’t want you to be a different person who’s not sick—”

“But _I do_ ,” Nicky snaps, effectively shutting Alex up. The admission seems to startle both of them into silence; Nicky crosses his arms like he’s trying to protect his heart. “I accept it, but I don’t like it, and I want to be… strong. Since we met. All I want is to be strong. For you to see that.” His lips abruptly tighten and he looks up at the ceiling.

They’re abruptly interrupted by Zhenya yelling in Russian through the wall. “A doctor thinks sick people are weak?”

“Can you at least _pretend_ you’re not listening?” Alex hollers back, also in Russian. To Nicky, he turns and says seriously, “Zhenya makes good point. You think being sick makes you weak? You should know that’s stupid. You’re doctor.”

“I don’t think that about patients!” Nicky answers immediately, eyes so wide that Alex believes his sincerity. “Just me.”

Alex raises his eyebrows in unimpressed skepticism. Nicky seems to lose steam and they both lean back in their respective cushions. Outside, crickets have come out after the rain and start to chirp away, some of them more of a buzzing than a clicking. There’s no noise coming from the other apartment and Alex imagines Geno and Sidney sitting there with cups to their ears, listening at the wall. The thought makes him smile.

“I’ll try to… be better. And tell you everything,” Nicky murmurs, turning his head to watch Alex carefully.

Alex stays quiet, staring at the blank TV in front of them. It sits there across the couch and for a moment, they are like they were—two lost souls staring intently at a powerless TV. Nicky had hidden medical treatments from him ever since they met, and even now that they’re with people again, Nicky’s still hiding them. And just as determinedly, Alex has been prying at Nicky’s defenses ever since they first shook hands, trying to force every secret out of him even when he clearly didn’t want to tell.

“Hey,” Nicky prompts quietly.

And no matter how many times Alex tries to give it, Nicky still doesn’t accept Alex’s love. Not really.

“Talk to me,” Nicky commands, voice pinched.

Maybe if they’d met at a Starbucks before the world ended, they could’ve gotten off to a better start. They could have set healthy boundaries and not kept secrets and not been possessive. They wouldn’t have nightmares about cannibalism and wouldn’t be friends with mannequins.

“Oh, Alexander,” Nicky murmurs, each syllable so unbearably gentle that it sends tingles down Alex’s spine. It takes him a couple moments to realize that he’s crying, and he’s not sure when that started. Nicky’s hands are gently pulling at him and Alex goes where Nicky wants him to go—lying down on his side on the couch, his head pillowed on Nicky’s thigh. “What’s wrong?”

“Am I bad for you?” Alex asks, still staring at the TV even though it’s sideways now. Without waiting for an answer, he rephrases. “Should we break up?”

Nicky thinks about the question before answering, his fingers running across Alex’s hair and upturned shoulder. “No,” he answers slowly, “but our relationship has to change.”

Ice runs through Alex’s veins, even though he knows Nicky’s right. “We have to be more apart.”

“No,” Nicky says, this time without hesitating. “We’ll be closer.”

From this angle, Alex can see their reflection on the glass of the TV. He watches Nicky’s hands move steadily across his shoulder, like he’s petting Mama instead of Alex. “How?” Alex mumbles.

“I can tell you secrets now,” Nicky answers quietly, “without worrying that you’ll take stupid risks and get us eaten. There’s nobody to eat us.” Before Alex has a chance to defend himself, Nicky continues, “And when I go away and do things without you, you can do things too and not have to worry that I’m going to be hurt.”

“I’ll sit at home, think about how much I miss you,” Alex grumbles.

Nicky snorts. “Oh please. Your fan club grows every day.”

“I don’t have a fan club,” Alex protests, but he’s smiling, and he knows Nicky can feel it against his thigh.

“Oh _please_ ,” Nicky repeats. He slides his hand up Alex’s shirt—an unexpected but not unwelcome sensation. He brushes his fingers lightly against Alex’s tummy and chest as he talks, making Alex squirm with vague ticklishness. “Everyone likes you. Especially TJ. And Jakub.” His voice gets scratchier as he talks, probably only from sudden use after months of silence, but Alex’s heart speeds up double-time anyway.

“Not gonna touch them,” Alex says, helplessly shivering under Nicky’s light touch.

“I know,” Nicky murmurs, and then leans down and gently bites Alex’s ear. “I got here first.”

Alex laughs and rolls onto his back. Nicky smiles and kisses his forehead.

 

 

 

 

**Eight weeks later**

 

For some reason, Alex had expected everything to be dusty. When he actually thought about it, though, he and Nicky had only left the house a couple months ago—it just felt like so much longer. He cast his gaze around the front hallway and adjoining kitchen. Beams of light flooded in through the windows, and Alex’s weight made the floorboards creak as he took a few more steps inside.

“It’s nice,” TJ says from behind him. Alex can’t tell if TJ’s being sincere or just nice. The house probably doesn’t look like much to anyone but Alex and Nicky. It’s just another abandoned post-outbreak shell like all the ones around it: empty, messy, and starting to fall apart. “Nice east-facing windows,” TJ adds, like that means something. “You chose a good house.”

Alex doesn’t even know what direction east is. TJ can always tell what direction things are in; in addition, he seems to have a constant awareness of how to keep everyone safe. Despite that, he never seems nervous or paranoid—he just seems confident and alert. He can also tell when a cold front is coming or when a deer has been near the house or how long it is until sunset. He’s on a wavelength that Alex will never really understand.

“It had basement. Nicky wanted a basement.” Alex glances at the basement door. They’d left it open, but he can’t even bring himself to look down the stairwell. He glances at the floor across from the doorway, where he’d spent so many hours sitting and staring at nothing, waiting for Nicky to come back up. He’d always been so afraid, swallowing thickly while the words _maybe he won’t come back up this time_ had flitted through his head again and again.

TJ gently touches the small of Alex’s back, bringing him back to the present. “Do we need to go downstairs?” TJ asks with deliberate patience, like he’s been repeating this question. When Alex shakes his head, TJ reaches out and closes the basement door. “Show me where you watched movies,” TJ suggests, and Alex immediately strides toward the study.

Everything is just as they left it. The couch is still by the back wall, the giant bed in the middle of the floor and the TV in front of it. Their books are scattered around, and TJ starts picking them up, putting them in a shopping bag. Alex knows he should help, but his feet take him across the room until he’s sitting down on the couch and looking at the TV.

“We sat here to watch movies,” he murmurs to TJ, the memories washing over him like a tidal wave.

“You mean, you’d tell them to him like a story, right?” TJ asks, putting the bag down and sitting beside Alex.

“Yeah.” Alex feels guilty again at the nostalgia that overtakes him like a fog. “I miss it,” he confesses to TJ.

Predictably, TJ doesn’t seem to judge Alex at all for that. “It was fun and romantic, of course you miss it.” When Alex turns to look at TJ, TJ smiles brightly back at him. “People love movies,” he says, like it’s just that simple.

“We weren’t really watching anything,” Alex says. He’s having trouble articulating why it’s so wrong to miss the way their life was—there’s nothing normal or healthy about missing parts of the way they used to live. “And Nicky was sick. It’s fucked up, I feel bad for missing that. Nicky was hurting.”

“But you don’t miss it _because_ Nicky was hurting, you miss it because it was romantic, and peaceful, and made you happy. It was a bad time for you, for the whole world, and watching movies was a fun way to take your mind off of it,” TJ deduces confidently. He speaks like someone who hasn’t stared death in the face, who hasn’t had to do the impossible to stay alive and safe while the world crumbled around him, even though Alex knows TJ definitely _has_ been through hell. Alex wishes he were more like TJ, in these moments—but he also knows that there’s nobody like TJ, and he thanks God and his ancestors again that TJ is back in his life.

Alex doesn’t really trust his voice, so he just nods and clears his throat. He gets up and looks around the bookshelves for a while—he knows he left the recipe somewhere here, and now he can finally cook Swedish food for Nicky. He’s decided it will be a surprise. He can cook it on a day when Nicky’s at the New Washington clinic taking care of people, and when he comes home, Alex can take care of Nicky.

He finds it and stuffs it in his pocket. TJ gets up and stands near Alex’s side, waiting patiently. Alex should maybe look through the house some more for supplies, but he can’t bring himself to do it.

“Let’s go back to New Washington,” Alex declares. Luckily, his tone sounds steady and confident.

TJ doesn’t question why. Originally, they were going to head back to Eagle’s Nest and stay the night there and Alex would return to New Washington alone in the morning, but TJ seems to have correctly guessed that Alex just wants to see Nicky. “You got it,” TJ says softly, and they head back out to the Jeep.

It starts to rain on their drive back to New Washington, the downpour eventually growing so heavy that TJ has to slow down to a reasonable pre-apocalyptic speed. Neither of them speaks; they’d have to yell over the sound of the fat drops hitting the metal of the roof. Occasionally Alex will look over at the side of TJ’s face in the dim light, admiring his ever-growing hair. His waves now reach down past his shoulders, something that the company would have frowned on before the world ended. Alex wonders if that’s why TJ refuses to let Andre cut it; it’s a reminder that he’s not stuck there in a cramped little cubicle anymore, bound by company regulations. (Then again, maybe TJ refuses to let Andre cut it because Andre is terrible with scissors and has no sense of style.)

“Come in,” Alex says impulsively as soon as TJ stops the car in front of the duplex. “It’s raining. Don’t drive in this. Stay the night.”

TJ grins. “Not that I don’t want to, but you know I can drive in the rain, right?”

There’s no doubt in Alex’s mind that if TJ put his mind to it, he could drive through a fucking tornado. “Come see Mama and Nicky,” he orders, and then softens his tone to add, “I miss you.”

“Oh, babe,” TJ says, grinning happily as he unbuckles himself. That’s another thing TJ can do that Alex and Nicky can’t—he can just accept people’s affection, he can just believe people when they tell him they miss him and love him. Alex wants to learn how to do that, or maybe he just needs to un-learn how to do the opposite. More than that, Alex wants TJ to teach Nicky how to accept love in such a simple and trusting way.

(There’s something in Alex’s chest that bursts a little with fullness when he sees TJ and Nicky in the same room, safe and healthy and interacting. He can’t put words to it, but it makes him want to shape his fingers into an L and press his hand to his heart.)

They both get drenched on the short walk from the Jeep to the front door, and Alex leads them in as quickly as he can. The inside of the duplex is small but warm and well-lit. Nicky’s got a candle burning on the table and the lamp by the couch is turned on.

Nicky waves hello at Alex. He’s sitting cross-legged on the floor and watching Mama play with… Penguin, or Charging. One of the two. Only Zhenya can tell them apart. The door to Sidney and Geno’s half of the duplex is open. When TJ steps out from behind Alex, Nicky’s eyes widen slightly before he waves another hello.

“Hey,” TJ answers back, and he and Alex take off their rain-soaked shoes and coats. “Alex invited me to stay the night. Uh, if that’s not okay with you, I can go, I just—”

“Please stay,” Nicky interrupts firmly.

Alex is about to kiss Nicky in greeting when Zhenya calls out in Russian, “You finally getting that threesome you’re always after?” and Alex chokes on his tongue.

“Fuck you,” he shouts back uncreatively.

Zhenya laughs at him because he’s a total dick, and Alex vows to mock him for something soon. That’s the kind of friendship they’re growing, and Alex wouldn’t have it any other way.

At the sight of a stranger, Penguin or Charging flees through the adjoining door back to Sidney and Zhenya, and one of them closes it behind the kitten. Mama slinks over to Nicky’s lap and curls up on his folded legs, fussing a little until she’s fully comfortable and starts to doze.

TJ settles down on the couch and Alex sits down beside him. Nicky stays on the floor, most likely not wanting to wake Mama. He babies her the same way that Zhenya babies the kittens.

“What was the best movie you guys ever watched together?” TJ asks, stretching. He looks drowsy; sometimes Alex worries that he doesn’t sleep enough. He works so hard for everyone else but doesn’t always take care of himself.

 “ _Titanic_ ,” Nicky says softly, and Alex assumes he means the first time they “watched” it, and not the time when Nicky actually got a DVD player and Alex ruined everything by starting a fight.

TJ grins. “Oh, right! Yeah, Alex told me about the G-spot scene.” He snickers. “I wish I’d been there.”

“What’s a G-spot?” Nicky asks innocently, and TJ laughs louder. “Is it a baby?”

Alex folds his arms in feigned annoyance. “Do you want to hear _Titanic_ or not?”

TJ chuckles to himself a little before lying down on his back, eyes closing. “I wanna hear it. I might fall asleep but just keep talking.”

Nicky shifts just slightly so he can look at Alex instead of at the blank TV. It’s a little surprising to Alex, but he finds he likes it—even though they have a TV, Nicky’s still choosing to look at Alex, to listen to a movie from Alex rather than just watch it together, staring at a glowing screen while neither of them talks to each other.

Alex doesn’t want to let Nicky or TJ down, so he tells the story of the movie as best he can. It lasts hours, and TJ falls asleep partway through. Nicky stays awake, though the length of each of his blinks seems to increase as the night wears on. By the time Old Rose throws the necklace into the ocean, Nicky looks drowsy but content. “Good story,” Nicky murmurs, the corners of his mouth turned up.

“Thank you.” Alex rests his hand on the top of TJ’s head. “TJ thinks so too. So good he falls asleep.”

Nicky yawns and lets his eyes fall shut for a few solid seconds. The rain is still falling outside and Alex spaces out, lethargy catching up with him too. There’s no screaming out here, no fires or breaking glass, and the patter of the raindrops on the roof is enough to lull him to sleep before too long.

“What are your three wishes now?” Nicky asks, keeping his voice down so TJ and Mama won’t wake up. He strokes Mama’s fur gently and watches her twitch in her sleep.

Alex doesn’t follow. “What?” He fights back the urge to pet TJ’s hair like Nicky’s petting Mama.

“You told me once about your three wishes.” Nicky looks up at Alex, breathtaking in his beauty even in the dim light. “You wanted an island, you wanted to hear my voice, and you wanted us to be on the island together. Without any ghosts.”

Alex remembers. It feels like years ago that he’d said that, and he’s ashamed that those were his three wishes. What stupid priorities he used to have. “I remember,” he murmurs, fingers brushing softly against TJ’s hair.

“So what would your new wishes be?” Nicky prompts softly, his voice barely audible over the sound of the rain on the roof.

On the other side of the wall, Sidney and Zhenya are talking in low voices about something while Penguin and Charging mewl at each other. Alex watches as Mama shifts in Nicky’s lap, one of her front paws curling around her face to block out the dim light from the candle and the lamp. Under Alex’s hand, TJ’s hair is soft. He’s snoring slightly, and when Alex gently nudges under his right shoulder, TJ stirs long enough to roll onto his side so he can breathe more easily. He immediately drops back into sleep, and Alex runs his fingers through the waves of TJ’s hair.

When Alex looks back over at Nicky, he sees that Nicky’s still waiting patiently for an answer. “I can’t think of any wishes,” Alex admits softly. “I have what I want.”

In response, Nicky smiles so widely that he gets crinkles at the edges of his gray-green eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU EVERYONE for your patience and your comments and your kudos! This has been a long and emotional journey. I plan to write some extras for this fic (for example, what job Alex takes in New Washington, and what the last 2 kittens are named), and I'll post those here too. I regularly post updates about fic on my [Tumblr](https://cornfieldsposts.tumblr.com/) and also spout nonsense on my BRAND NEW [TWITTER](https://twitter.com/slewfootcindy)!

**Author's Note:**

> My Red Iris [tag on my Tumblr](https://cornfieldsposts.tumblr.com/tagged/my-fic%3A-red-iris)!  
> My [Twitter](https://twitter.com/slewfootcindy)!


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